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AUTHOR: 


HAMILTON,  JAMES 


TITLE: 


MOUNT  OF  OLIVES,  AND 
OTHER  LECTURES  ON  ... 


PLACE: 


NEW  YORK 


DA  TE : 


1854 


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240 
HIS 


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Hamilton,  James,  1814-1867. 

The  Mount  of  Olives,  and  other  leoturee  on 
prayer,  by  the  Rev.  James  Hamilton...  Fifth 
edition.   New  York,  Robert  Carter  &  brothers 
1854. 

X,    ill, -163  p.       15|«^. 


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LECTURES  ON  PRAYER. 


BY     THE 

REV.    JAMES    H  A  M  I  L  T  0  N, 

NATIONAL  SCdTOH  CIIUHCl!.  REGENT'S  SQUARE. 

Author  of  -Hari)  on  ii.«  Wi1I.mv«,"  "Life  in  EarncU"  &  c. 


F  I  K  T  !i    i;  1)  1  Y  I  0  N 


"I* 

is 
111 


NEW  YORK: 

ROBERT   CARTER   &   BROTHERS, 
No.    285    BROADWAY. 

"1864. 


<  • 


% y' 


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n^  1 


4 


HIS 


TO    TH« 


KIRK    SESSION   AND   CONGREGAXrON 


OF    THB 


NATIONAL  SCOTCH  CHURCH, 


REGENT     SQUARE. 


My  dear  Friends.— Of  all  ministerial  employmenti 
—and  some  of  them  are  exceedingly  delightful— there 
is  none  in  which  I  am  so  happy,  nor  so  sure  that  I  am 
profitably  engaged,  as  when  meditating  over,  and  writing 
down,  the  truths  of  the  Bible  for  your  benefit.  These 
sometimes  come  out  to  view  with  a  vividness  and  beauty 
which  words  cannot  perpetuate,  but  still  with  a  radiance 
which,  to  my  own  memory,  lingers  on  many  texts,  ana 
has  left  an  entrancement  round  days  and  places  devot«fl 
lo  their  study.  And  just  as  I  rejoice  when  a  day  of  un- 
invaded  leisure  secures  some  fresh  materials  for  the 
edification  and  comfort  of  that  beloved  people  whose  wel- 
fare lies  nearest  my  heart ;  so  I  have  sometimes  had  to 
mourn  when  personal  exhaustion,  or  stormy  weather,  of 
•ome  adverse  incident  on  Sabbath,  frustrated  the  medi- 
tation of  the  week     There  is  the  two-fold  sadness,  that 


«!»••  thoughts  hvre  perished,  and  that  another  opportu- 
nity of  doing  good  is  gone  for  ever. 

And  yet  the  mere  wish  to  preserve  a  fragment  of  thesu 
Saturday  musings  would  not  be  a  sufficient  reason  for 
printing  them.  I  feel  that  something  like  the  following 
pages  is  a  needful  supplement  to  a  tract  with  which  yoo 
are  already  acquainted.*  Besetting  as  the  sin  of  indo- 
lence is,  we  shall  find  many  persons  diligent  who  are 
not  devout.  Perhaps  some  of  these  may  read  this  little 
book,  and,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  may  see  prayer  in  a 
new  light,  and  be  led  themselves  to  practise  it. 

Except  that  in  the  third  and  seventh  Lectures  three 
discourses  have  been  condensed  into  one,  and  several 
have  been  omitted  altogether,  I  have  not  made  many  al- 
terations,    I  thought  it  best  to  retain  the  sermonic  style, 
as  well  as  the  homely  illustrations  so  hazardous  in  print. 
This  is  not  a  treatise  on  prayer.     Those  who  desire 
something  fuller  and  more  systematic  will  find  a  variety 
of  excellent  works  already  provided.     None  is  more 
comprehensive,  or  more  enriched  by  Scriptural  truth, 
and  extensive  acquaintance  with  Christian  literature,  or 
by  its  tone  more  calculated  to  awaken  devotional  feeling, 
than  the  well-known  treatise  of  my  revered  and  beloved 
friend  Mr.  Bickersteth.    I  lately  read  with  much  plea- 
sure a  small  volume  by  Mr  M'Gill,  of  Hightae,  "  Enter 
into  thy  closet.'*    It  is  judicious,  systematic,  and  practi- 
cal.    For  original  and  elevated  sentiment,  delicate  ob- 
servation, and  experimental  wisdom,  conveyed  in  the 
happiest  style,  we  have  few  books  comparable  to  Mr 
Sheppard*s  •*  Thoughts  on  Private  Devotion." 

I  have  a  friend,— many  will  know  him  when  I  say 
*at  his  large  accomplishments  and  lofty  mind  intended 

*  Lifn  ia  Earnetl. 


' 


him  for  authorship, — but  his  unweariable  benevolence 
and  consummate  taste  have  hitherto  kept  him  busy  as 
the  referee  and  coadjutor  of  all  his  book-making  acquain- 
tance. When  he  discovered  what  I  was  about,  he  lent 
me  a  manuscript  volume  of  notes  of  the  late  Mr.  Foster's 
Lectures, — several  of  them  on  the  subject  of  prayer. 
Had  there  been  room  I  should  have  quoted  more  freely 
from  them,  in  the  hope  that  their  gnarled  vigour  would 
lend  a  strength  and  solidity  to  the  text ;  but  this  book  ift 
already  too  long,  and  the  notes  are  worthy  of  being  printed 
separately.  And  now  that  I  am  acknowledging  obliga- 
tions, I  cannot  refuse  to  my  grateful  feelings  the  satis- 
faction,—and  I  hope  he  will  not  be  angry  at  it, — of 
mentioning  how  much  I  owe,  in  the  way  of  suggesting 
subjects  and  trains  of  thought  to  the  conversations  of 
another  friend,— one  to  whose  eminent  professional  tal- 
ents and  personal  kindness  I  owe  numberless  obligations, 
and  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  my  first  acquaintance 
with  more  than  one  field  of  theological  authorship. 
Amongst  others,  he  induced  me  to  read  the  writings  of 
Alexander  Knox,— an  author  from  whom  I  have,  per- 
haps, learned  the  more,  all  the  rather  that,  in  many 
things,  I  am  constrained  to  differ  from  him. 

It  would  have  made  the  course, — such  as  it  is, — more 
complete,  had  the  Lecture  on  "  Social  and  United  Prayer" 
been  added.  The  especial  blessmg  attached  to  consenta  • 
neous  prayer  is  one  peculiarity  of  the  New  Testament 
dispensation,  and  its  abundant  exercise  is  a  delightful 
token  of  Christian  vitality.  This  year  is  likely  to  be 
ushered  in  with  a  larger  amount  of  united  supplications 
than  opened  any  year  since  the  commencment  of  the 
Christian  era ;  and  I  doubt  not  this  agreement  in  prayer 
is  the  harbinger  of  better  days  in  the  Church's  history 
1* 


VI 


Our  own  prayer-meeting  on  Monday  evening  ha«  often 
been  a  season  of  refreshing  When  conducted  oy  our 
brethren,  the  elders  and  deacons,  it  is  the  minister's 
Sabbath,  and,  like  yourselves,  I  have  nothing  to  do  but 
to  worship.  And  whenever  I  see  a  goodly  attendance, 
I  am  led  to  hope  that  the  previous  day  has  been  a  day  ol 
profit,  and  that  the  remainder  of  the  week  will  reap  th« 
blessing  of  that  prayerful  hour. 

My  beloved  hearers,  amidst  many  misgivings  occa- 
sioned by  want  of  time  for  revising  it,  I  send  this  little 
book  to  you.  I  know  that  you  will  receive  it  kindly  for 
the  truth's  sake  and  for  the  author's  sake ;  and,  as  it  is, 
I  am  glad  to  think  that  you  have  in  this  more  permanent 
form,  and  with  all  your  friendly  prepossessions,  words 
which  were  some  of  them  spoken  in  weakness,  but 
which,  even  when  dead,  I  should  still  desire  to  speak. 
Should  you  derive  any  profit  from  perusing  them,— 
•*  Brethren,  pray  for  us." 

Ever  noit  afiectionately  yours, 

JAMES  HAMILTON 
January  1  18IC 


CONTENTS. 


/ 


LECTURE  L 


THE   MOITNT  OF  OLIVES. 


Mountami  of  Scripture.  Olivet.  The  Saviouf^f 
Compassion.  The  Agony  in  Gethsemane.  The 
Saviour's  Example  in  Prayer.  Submission.  Per- 
severance. Preparation  for  suffering.  The  Sa- 
viour's Love  to  his  Own    ....    Page    11 


LECTURE  II. 

THE   PARTING    PROMISE   AND  THE   PRESENT    SAVIOITR 

Climbing  Plants.  The  Tree  of  Life.  Reasons  why 
Men  do  not  love  the  Lord  Jesus.  The  Saviour 
neither  dead,  nor  distant,  nor  different  from  what 
he  was.  Chikt  ever  present  with  his  people. 
His  presence  sanctifying  and  sustaining.  Paul 
and  Nero.  Christ's  presence  comforting.  The 
Short  Journey.  Bunyan  in  Prison,  and  Ruther- 
ford in  banishment.  The  Infant  Dreamer.  "For 
ever  with  the  Lord."         .        .        .  Pa&«  25 


flU 


contshth. 


Ij£CTUR£j  III. 

THl  HBABKR   OF  PRAYXR.      THE   INTERCESSOR  ABOW 
THE    PROMPTER    WITHIW. 

Prayer  has  actual  Power.  The  Petitionless  Prayer. 
The  Efficacy  of  Prayer  revealed.  It  is  Matter 
of  Fact.  A  priori  Objections  irrelevant.  The 
Declarations  of  God  himself.  The  Saviour's 
Testimony.  Instancesof  answered  Prayer.  New- 
ton's Experience.  The  Inhabitant  of  Jupiter, 
and  the  Husbandman.  God  is  the  Hearer  of 
Prayer,  for  he  is  the  Living  God,  the  Almighty, 
and  the  God  of  Love.  The  Mediation  of  Christ. 
The  Work  of  the  Spirit.  Guilt  on  the  Conscience. 
Dull  Perception.  The  Dog  and  the  Naturalist. 
Cold  Affections.  The  Intermitting  Fountain. 
The  Disposition  to  ask  Wrong  Things,  and  to  ask 
Right  Things  in  a  Wrong  Way,       .        .        Pag»  44 

LECTURE  IV. 

THE  PRIVILIQE   OF  PRATER. 

Athenian  Curiosity.  A  Supposition.  Another. 
Affliction.  The  Shipwrecked  Mariner.  Per- 
plexity. Mentor.  Solomon's  request.  The 
Important  undertaking.  The  Warrior  and  the 
broken  Buckle.  Henry  IV  Michael  Angela. 
Jhe  Spiritual  Inquirer.  The  Blind  Man  of 
•jBethsaida  .....  Page   70 


CONTENTS., 


LECTURE  V. 

THE   OPEN   REWARD  OF   SECRET  PRATER 

The  Closet.  Abraham.  Isaac.  David.  Corne- 
lius. John  Welsh.  Peden  The  stated  Place. 
The  secret  Reward.  Jacob  at  Jabbok.  The 
Talisman.  Presence  of  Mind.  Nehemiah.  Boer- 
haave.  Spirituality.  The  Smell  of  the  Ivory 
Palace.  The  open  Reward  of  the  great  Day. 
Prayers  self-registering      .        .        .  Page 


90 


LECTURE  VI. 

REABOKS  WHY  PRATER   It  NOT  ANSWERED. 

The  blank  Petition.  The  wrong  ChanneL  The 
Serpent  asked.  The  wrong  Motive.  The  Prayer 
countermanded  by  the  contrary  Sin.  Unbelief. 
The  Answer  comes  unawares     .        .        .    Page  104 


LECTURE  VII 


CONFESSION,   ADORATION,   AND  THANKSGIVING. 

VonfeBsion.  Remorse  and  Silence.  The  Psalmist 
SuUenness.  Callousness  The  Fountain  opened. 
The  Scape-Goat.— ./^doni/ion.  The  bestowment 
of  the  Affections.  Platonism.  Mysticism.  As- 
ceticism. Christianity.  Refuge  and  Solace  in  the 
Divine  Perfections. — Thanksgiving  Interposi- 
tions. The  best  Gifts.  Joseph  Alleine.  The 
loyfulLife  .        .     Page  114 


CONTENT*. 


LECTURE  Vm 


BIBLK   INSTANCEfi. 


FlisLoTV.  Enoch.  Moses.  David.  Matthew.  Henry 
Cornelius  Winter.  Bishop  Heber.  Dr.  Williams. 
Count  Zinzendorf.  S.  Pearce.  President  Ed- 
Daniel.     A  Praying  Atmosphere.     The 


%Vi 


l-rv  in::  W' iter  Spider 


Page  134 


I 


LECTURE  IX. 


CONCLUSION. 


What  is  Prayer  ?    Communion  with  (Jod.     Peace 
and  Joy.     Exotic  blessings.     The  Branch  run 
ning   over  the    Wall.      Intercession.      M.    J. 
OnOiame  .       .  P»s»  14S 


LEOTUKK  L 


THE    MOUNT    OF    OLIVEi. 


«•  And  he  went,  as  he  was  wont,  to  the  Mount  ol 
Olives." — Luke  xxii.  39. 

The  mountains  are  Nature's  monuments. 
L  ke  the  islands  they  dwell  apart,  and  like  them 
lK?y  give  asylum  from  a  noisy  and  irreverent 
world.  Many  a  meditative  spirit  has  found  in 
their  silence  leisure  for  the  longest  thought,  and 
in  their  Paimos-like  seclusion  ^he  brightest  vi- 
sions and  largest  projects  have  eyolved ;  whilst 
by  a  sort  of  over-mastering  attraction,  they  have 
usually  drawn  to  themselves  the  most  memorable 
incidents  which  variegate  our  human  history. 
And,  as  they  are  the  natural  haunts  of  the  high- 
est spirits,  and  the  appropriate  scenes  of  the  most 
signal  occurrences,  so  they  are  the  noblest  ceno- 
taphs. Afar  off  they  arrest  the  eye  ;  and  though 
their  hoary  chronicle  tells  its  legend  of  the  past, 
their  heaTen-pointing  elevations  convey  the  spirit 
onward  towards  eternity.  We  do  not  wonder 
that  excited  fancy  has  sought  relics  of  the  ark  on 
the  toj)  of  Ararat,  and  in  the  grim  solitude  of 
Sinai  it  is  solemn  to  remember  and  easy  to  be- 
lieve that  the  voice  of  Jehovah  has  spoken  here. 


12 


LECTURE     I  . 


Elijah  has  made  Cakmel  all  his  owe,  and  the 
death  of  Moses  must  be  ever  Fisoah's  diadem. 
The  words  of  Jesus  seem  still  to  linger  on  the 
hills  of  Galilee,  their  lilies  forbidding  "  thought 
for  raiment,"  and  their  twittering  little  birds  "  no 
*nought  for  to-morrow,"  whilst  every  grassy  tuft 
and  sceDted  flower  is  breathing  its  own  beatitude. 
But   though    heavenly  wisdom   spake   on   that 
mountain-side,  and  excellent  glory  lighted  up  the 
top  of  Tabor,  there  is  another  height  to  which 
discipleship  reverts   with    fonder  memory,  and 
which  It  treads  with  softer  step— that  mountain 
where  beyofid  any  spot  in  Palestine  "  God  was 
manifest  m  flesh"— where  the  great  Intercessor 
was  wont  to  pray,  where  Jesus  wept  over  Jeru- 
salem, on  whose  slopes  he  blessed  the  Apostle- 
band,  and  sent  his  message  of  mercy  to  mankind 
—the  mountain  at  whose  base  lay  Bethany  and 
Gethseraane — on  whose  gentle  turf  his  feet  last 
stood,  and  where  they  yet  may  stand  again— the 
Sabbatic,    pensive,    and    expectant    Mount    of 
Olives. 

Round  this  Incarnation-monument  let  our 
thoughts  this  day  revolve.  To  learn  the  mind 
which  was  in  Christ,  and  so  the  mind  which  is 
m  God,  let  m  confine  our  view  to  that  little  spot 
and  ponder  those  scenes  in  the  Saviour's  history 
and  those  words  in  the  Saviour's  ministry  of 
which  the  theatre  was  Olivet.  And  whilst  we 
do  this  for  purposes  of  general  piety,  to  get  ma- 
terials for  our  faith  and  love,  let  us,  as  the  best 
introduction  to  a  few  discourses  on  Prayer,  keep 
an  especial  eye  to  the  suppliant  Saviour.  That 
we  may  know  the  Intercessor  above,  there  is  no 


LECTURE     I. 


13 


way  so  excellent  as  to  get  acquainted  with  that 
same  Jesus  while  he  sojourned  here  below. 

1.  Olivet  reminds  us  of  the  Saviour's  pity  for 
such   as  perish.     It  was  a  pleasant  evening  in 
spring,  and  the  Holy  Land  looked  happy.     The 
rapid  verdure— the  bright  blush  of  the  pomegra- 
nate, and  the  tender  scent  of  the  budding  vines — 
the  nestling  dove  in  her  murmuring  joy,  and  the 
colt  and  lamb  in  their  crazy  gambols — all  felt  the 
gush  of  vernal  glee.     And  people  felt  it.     It  was 
the   sundy  paschal  tide,  and  the  waysides  re- 
sounded with  shouting  pilgrims  on  their  journey 
to  Jerusalem.     From  Hermon  to  Zion  it  was  one 
long  stream  of  music  and  merry  hearts,  and  even 
round  the  Man  of  Sorrows  it  looked  like  a  dawn 
of  joy.     They  seem  at  last  to  guess  his  mission 
and  suspect  his  glory.     They  are  conducting  him 
in  triumph.     They  are  rending  down  the  palm- 
branches  and   cleaving  the   welkin   with   their 
shouts,  "  Hosannah  to  the  Son  of  David,"  and 
proud  is  he  on  whose  mantle  the  pacino-  colt  of 
their  new  monarch  sets  his  elated  foot. — But  why 
this  solemn  pause  ?  this  slackened  gait,  this  quiv- 
ering lip,  this  tearful  eye  ?     Jerusalem  is  full  in 
sight — straight  over  yon  narrow  vale,  so  near  that 
you  may  count  each  stone  of  the  glistening  tem- 
ple, and  catch  from  the  teeming  streets  this  even- 
mg's  tune  of  mingled  gladness.       Is  it  not  a 
goodly  sight  ?  yon  gorgeous  fane,  the  true  Jeho- 
vah's sanctuary,  yon  crowding  population — God's 
ancient  people — and  more  than  all,  the  thought 
of  happy  meetings  and  blessed  homes  on  which 
this    evening's    sun  will  set?     But  the  Saviour 
WW  another   crowd,  and   heard  another  shout. 
2 


14 


LECTURE     1 


Through  the  darkened  noon  he  saw  the  erected 
cross,  and  round  it  heard  the  frantic  mob  ex- 
claiming:,  "  Away  with  him,  away  with  him — 
Crucify  him,  crucify  him — His  blood  be  on  ua 
and  our  children."  The  Saviour  saw  another 
sight.  Across  the  gulf  of  forty  years  he  looked 
as  clearly  as  then  he  looked  across  the  valley  of 
Jehoshaphat,  and  saw  the  dismal  prayer  fulfilled. 
He  saw  another  passover,  and  another  multitude, 
and  another  evening  like  this — ^but  saw  that  there 
should  never  be  the  like  again.  He  beheld  the 
Roman  eagle  swoop  down  on  his  quarry,  and  in 
the  straitness  of  that  siege  saw  things  from  which 
the  piteous  soul  of  Immanuel  shrunk  away.  He 
saw  another  sight.  He  saw  these  goodl/stones 
all  tumbled  down,  and  barley  growing  in  silent 
fields  where  now  so  many  footsteps  nimbly  trip- 
ped it — no  temple,  no  ephod,  no  priest,  no  passo- 
ver. And,  oh !  he  saw  yet  another  sight.  He 
saw  another  world,  and  in  its  sullen  gloom  and 
endless  weeping  recognized  many  a  one  whose 
beaming  face  and  sparkling  eye  lit  up  that  even- 
ing's festival.  As  if  already  in  the  place  of  woe 
he  looked  on  many  round  him  ;  and  though  their 
voices  were  that  moment  merry  and  shouting  in 
his  train,  he  knew  that  they  would  despise  his 
blood  and  hate  his  Heavenly  Father,  and  their 
present  mirth  made  Jesus  weep  the  more.  *'  He 
beheld  the  city,  and  wept  over  it,  saying,  If  ihou 
hadst  known,  even  thou,  in  this  thy  day,  the 
things  which  belong  unto  thy  peace  I  but  now 
they  are  hid  from  thine  eye$." 

Every  tear  that  Jesus  wept  is  a  mystery,  and 
this  solemn  incident  in  the  Redeemer's  history 


LECTURE     i 


in 


no   one   can   entirely  explain.      But,   my   dear 
friends,  it  teaches  this  awful  lesson — that  some 
may  share  a  Saviour's  tears  who  never  profit  by 
a   Saviour's  blood.     It  shows  that  his  pity  for 
sinners  is  far  beyond  their  pity  for  themselves. 
0  Christless  sinner !  these  tears  of  the  Saviour 
speak  to  thee.     They  ask,  Do  you  know  to  what 
a  hell  you  are  going,  and  what  a  heaven  you  are 
losing  ?     You  may  be  merry  now — but  so  was 
Jerusalem  then — and  yet  its  mirth  made  Jesus 
weep  the  more.     You  may  be  light-hearted  and 
lovely  to  your  friends — and  so  were  many  of 
those  whose  ungodly  souls  and   dark  hereafter 
made  Jesus  weep.     You  may  be  in  the  midst  of 
mercy  and  surrounded  with  the  means  of  grace 
— and  so  were  they;  but  mercy  so  near  them  and 
grace  rejected  only  made  the  Saviour's  tears  flow 
foster.     "  Would  that  thou  hadst  known  in  this 
thy  day,  the  things  that  belong  to  thy  peace." 
And  you  may  have  even  some  interest  about  the 
Saviour.     Under  some  erroneous  impression,  or 
on  a  holiday  triumph,  you  may  join  the  jubilant 
company  and  shout  Hosannah — but  oh !  if  you 
despise  his  blood  or  join  the  world  that  crucifies 
him,  you  are  one  of  those  whose  cup  of  wrath 
will  only  be  embittered  by  a  pitying  Saviour's 
slighted  tears.     You  who  never  come  to  a  com- 
munion— you  who  have  never  got  such  faith  in 
a  dying  Saviour,  or  such  love  to  him  as  to  do 
this  in  remembrance  of  him — you  who  do  noth- 
ing to  identify  yourselves  with   the  Nazarene— 
die  Crucified, — whose  zeal  is  all  expended  on  the 
road  from  Jericho  to  Jerusalem — who  never  fol- 
low to  the  guest-chamber,  to  Gethsemane,  to  the 


LECTURE     I. 


cross,  to  the  tomh  and  back  into  a  scorning  woild 
—you  who  are  not  moved  by  a  Saviour's  blood, 
will  you  not  be  melted  by  a  Saviour's  tear? 
That  tear  fell  from  an  eye  which  had  looked  into 
eternity,  and  knew  the  worth  of  souls.  It  fell 
from  an  eye  which  was  not  used  to  weep  for 
nothing-,  and  which  must  have  seen  something^ 
very  sad  before  it  wept  at  all.  It  fell  from  an 
eye  which,  0  sinner !  would  glisten  with  ecstasy 
if  it  saw  thy  dry  lids  moistening  and  thy  dry 
heart  melting — an  eye  which  would  sparkle  in 
affection  over  thee  if  it  saw  thee  weeping  for  thy- 
self, and  weeping  for  the  pierced  One. 

2.  The  Mount  of  Olives  reminds  us  of  the 
Redeemer's  agony  to  save.  At  the  fool  of  the 
mountain,  and  between  two  paths,  both  of  which 
lead  over  the  hill  to  Bethany,  is  a  little  enclosure 
called  Gethsemane.*  To  this  day  it  contains 
some  singularly  large  and  very  ancient  olive- 
trees.  Being  on  the  way-side  to  Bethany,  and 
at  a  convenient  distance  from  the  noise  and  in- 
terruption of  Jerusalem,  "Jesus  ofttimes  resorted 
thither  with  his  disciples ;"  and  when  he  crossed 
the  brook  and  got  in,  either  alone  or  with  his 
little  company,  under  the  soft  shelter  of  the  olive 
branches,  ana  the  city  gates  were  closed,  and  no 
footfall  was  heard  on  either  path,  he  enjoyed 
'communion  high  and  sweet"  with  his  Hea- 
venly Father.  And  this  holy  fellowship  en- 
ieared  the  place.  It  was  not  the  dewy  stillness 
—though  that  was  welcome  at  the  close  of  the 
jaded  day, — nor  the  sweet  moonlight,  and  the 

•  See  Narrative  of  a  Mission  to  the  Jews,  by  Messrs 
lonar  and  M*CIiejiie,  chap.  X 


LICTUKE    I. 


gentle  fall  of  tiny  flakes  from  the  blossoming 
trees,  and  the  murmur  of  the  brook,  and  the  song 
of  evening  birds — though,  after  the  rough  jeering 
and  blasphemy  of  men,  the  inarticulate  music  of 
the  loyal  universe  was  thrice  welcome  to  the  Sa- 
viour's ear ;  but  because  in  that  seclusion  He  and 
the  Father  were  alone  together.  Intercourse 
such  as  he  enjoyed  while  as  yet  in  the  Father's 
bosom  he  tasted  here,  and  it  so  gladdened  and 
strenf^thened  his  soul  that  he  ofttimes  resorted 
ihither.  Others  would  go  home  to  sleep,  but 
Jesus  would  go  here  to  pray.  Every  man  went, 
at  evening,  to  his  own  place  ;  but  Jesus  "  went 
to  the  Mount  of  Olives."*  And,  as  it  had  been 
the  scene  of  his  highest  delights,*  he  selected  it 
as  the  fittest  place  for  his  deepest  sorrow.  The 
Son  of  Man  had  no  dwelling  of  his  own  ;  but 
Gethsemane  was  the  Saviour's  "closet."*  It 
was  there  that,  in  secret,  he  had  so  often  prayed 
to  his  Father;  and  as  the  memory  of  blessed 
moments,  and  the  sunshine  of  heaven  opened, 
rested  on  it,  now  that  grief  was  near,  he,  as  it 
were,  entered  into  it  and  shut  to  the  door.  But 
oh  !  how  changed !  'Tis  no  longer  the  same 
Gethsemane.  All  his  days  of  flesh  the  Surety 
had  been  bearing  his  people's  sin,  and  at  all 
times  carrying  in  his  bosom  the  vial  of  indigna- 
tion due  to  their  sin.  But  it  was  not  wrath 
poured  out ;  it  was  wrath  in  a  vial.  Now,  how- 
ever, the  vial  burst,  and  his  inmost  soul  was 
drenched  in  its  burning  fury.  He  was  sore 
amazed.  To  be  made  "a  curse"  was  a  new 
thing  to  Immanuel.     To  be  brought  into  sacb 


•  John  rii.  53 ;  viii.  1. 
2* 


♦  Matt.  vi.  6. 


m  LB  CTUEE    I. 

hoirid  contact  with  the  thing  which  his  sou 
nalid— to  be  numbered  with  transgressors,  and 
lO  bear  the  sin  of  many — was  a  strange  and  ap- 
palling thing  10  the  Holy  One  of  God.  Ho  was 
iore  amazed  !  A  cup  was  put  into  his  harmless 
hand  ;  and,  as  he  gazed  at  this  cup  of  trembling, 
It  was  not  the  sharp  anguish  of  the  flesh,  nor  the 
taunts  of  ruffian  men,  nor  the  malignity  of  hide- 
ous fiends, — but  it  was  guilt  which  made  its  bit- 
ter dregs  and  the  Father's  wrath  its  flaming 
overflow.  And  though  his  hand  was  too  gentle 
and  filial  to  fling  that  cup  away,  separateness 
from  sin,  and  the  joyful  sense  of  his  Father's 
love,  were  to  Jesus  dearer  than  life  ;  and  though 
his  omnipotent  hand  still  clasped  the  cup,  his 
holy  soul  revolted  from  it,  and  in  ecstasy  of  pain 
— in  the  agony  of  a  bloody  sweat — he  prayed 
that  it  might  pass  Irom  Mm.  But  had  /le  not 
drunk  it,  that  cup  must  have  journeyed  on,  and 
aO  his  people,  in  a  lost  eternity,  must  have  drunk 
it  for  themselves  ;  and  though  the  fainting  flesh 
prompted  him  to  let  it  pass,  and  the  hatred  of  the 
accursed  thing,  and  the  instinct  after  the  Father's 
smile,  seconded  the  prayer  of  the  feeble  flesh, 
love  to  man  still  held  it  fast,  and  love  to  the  Fa- 
ther enabled  him  to  drink  it  all.  And  when  at 
Jist  from  iis  paroxysm  of  woe.  he  wakened  up 
m  the  strengthening  angers  arms,  the  work  was 
well-nigh  done,  justice  was  all  but  satisfied,  and 
the  Church  all  but  saved;  and,  for  the  joy  so 
much  nearer  now,  the  cross  had  no  ".error  and 
the  sepulchre  no  jjloom ;  and,  now  that  the  bit- 
terness of  death  was  past,  Judas  and  his  torch-lil 
bund  could  not  come  too  quicklv. 


LECTUREI.  -.i 

Oh,  what  wonders  love  hath  done  I 

But  how  little  undferstood  ! 
God  well  knows,  and  God  alone, 

What  produc'd  that  sweat  of  blootl 
Who  can  thy  deep  wonders  see. 
Wonderful  Gethsemane ! 

There  my  God  bore  all  my  guilt : 
This  through  grace  can  be  believed 

But  the  horrors  which  he  felt, 
Are  too  vast  to  be  conceived  : 

None  can  penetrate  through  thee, 

Doleful,  dark  Gethsemane  !* 

3.  The  Mount  of  Olives  is  identified  with  the 
supplications  and  intercessions  of  Immanuel,  and 
so  suggests  to  us  the  Lord  Jesus  as  the  great  ex- 
ample in  prayer.  The  supplications  which 
ascended  on  those  solitary  nights,  when,  of  his 
people,  there  was  none  with  him,  sur^'ive  in  no 
human  record  ;  yet,  doubtless,  to  the  end  of  time 
our  world  will  be  indebted  to  the  lonely  hours 
when  the  Man  of  Sorrows  watched  and  prayed 
upon  the  Mount  of  Olives.  The  petitions  oflfered 
in  Gethsemane  the  pen  of  Inspiration  has  pre- 
served ;  and  the  seventeenth  of  John  records  a 
long  and  fervent  prayer  oflfered,  in  all  likelihood, 
in  some  calm  spot  near  the  same  venerable  moun- 
tain's base.  In  these  supplications  the  heavenly 
High  Priest  was  not  only  his  people's  mediator 
and  intercessor,  but  their  model  and  their  guide. 
And  from  these  we  learn — 

(1.)  Submission  in  prayer.  In  praying  for  his 
people,  the  Mediator's  prayer  was  absolute* 
"  Father,  /  wiU.^'     But  in  praying  for  himself 

•  Hart's  Hymns. 


LECTURE    1. 


how  alterea  was  the  lang^uage  I  "  Father,  if  it 
be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me  :  neverthe- 
less, not  as  I  will,  but  as  thou  wilt,'  *'  Now  is 
my  soul  troubled,  and  what  shall  I  say  ?  Fa- 
ther, save  me  from  this  hour  ;  but  for  this  cause 
came  I   unto  this   hour.      Father,  glorify  thy 


Dame. 


(2.)  Perseverance  in  prayer.  The  Evangel- 
ist* tells  that  there  was  one  prayer  which  Jesus 
offered  three  times,  and  from  the  Epistle  to  the 
Hebrews  we  find  that  this  prayer  prevailed.l 
Although  the  more  palpable  sufferings  did  not 
pass  away,  the  more  exquisite  and  inward  an- 
guish, which  made  his  soul  exceeding  sorrowful 
even  unto  death,  did  pass  away.  In  answer  to 
his  "  strong  crying  and  tears,"  he  was  saved  from 
this  deadly  and  soul-crushing  grief. 

(3.)  The  best  preparation  for  trial  is  habitual 
prayer.  Long  before  it  became  the  scene  of  his 
agony,  Gethsemane  had  been  the  Saviour's 
oratory.  "He  ofttimcs  resorted  thither."  But 
when  the  hour  of  darkness  came,  and  he  trod  the 
wine-press  alone,  he  found  that  even  He  had  not 
been  there  too  often.  And,  brethren,  it  will  bo 
the  best  preparation  for  your  own  days  of  dark- 
ness and  scenes  of  trial,  to  resort  ofltimes  thithef 
in  anticipatory  prayer.  Days  of  bodily  weak- 
ness or  sad  bereavement  will  come  abated,  and 
the  day  of  death  will  come  less  startling,  if  in 
prayer  you  have  oft  repaired  to  it  beforehand,  and 
bespoken  almighty  help  against  its  time  of  need. 

4.  The  Mount  of  Olives  recalls  to  us  the  Sa- 
viour's affection  for  his  own,     I   fear  that  the 


LEC  TUEE    I. 


21 


•  Matt  xxvi.  44. 


t  Heb.  V.  7. 


love  of  Christ  is  little  credited  even  by  those  who 
have  some  faith  in  his  finished  work,  and  some 
attachment  to  his  living  person.  There  are  sev- 
eral relations  which  link  souls  on  earth  together, 
and  the  affection,  the  instinct  of  endearment  cre- 
ated by  ihat  relation  is  in  some  instances  in- 
tensely strong ;  but,  O  disciple !  do  you  believe 
that  your  Saviour's  love  is  stronger?  A  brother 
knows  how  he  loves  his  brother — but  their  love 
to  one  another  will  not  explain  a  Saviour's  love 
to  them — for  Jesus  is  "  a  friend  who  sticketh 
closer  than  a  brother ;"  a  friend  whose  love  will 
stand  severer  shocks  and  enter  into  finer  feelings. 
A  mother  knows  how  she  loves  the  infant  in  her 
arms,  how  little  she  would  grudge  the  hours 
spent  in  watching  his  feverish  slumber,  and  the 
health  she  lost  in  restoring  his  ;  but  that  will  not 
tell  her  how  a  Saviour  loves  his  own.  She  may 
forget,  but  Jesus  will  not  forget  his  ransomed. 
And  in  regard  to  the  most  sacred  of  all  relations, 
the  Bible  says,  "  Husbands,  love  your  wives, 
even  as  Christ  also  loved  the  Church,  and  gave 
himself  for  it,  that  he  might  sanctify  it."  Not 
that  it  is  possible  to  have  the  same  high  and  self- 
devoting  and  transforming  love  ;  but  the  nearer* 
approach  to  it  the  nearer  a  perfect  affection.  But 
though  the  Word  of  God  employs  these  three 
comparisons  to  shadow  forth  the  Saviour's  feel- 
ing towards  his  own,  the  labouring  words  and 
disappointed  metaphors  leave  us  to  infer  that 
there  is  something  in  the  heart  of  Immanuel  to- 
wards his  people — something  more  specific — 
moic  solicitous — more  bent  on  their  happiness 
and  more  bound  up  in  their  holiness — more  ten- 


LECTURE     I. 


ier  and  more  transforming  than  anything  which 
the  dim  affections  and  drossy  emotions  of  earth 
can   rightly  represent.     Oh,   disciple.'   do   you 
credit  this  ?     Have  you  not  been  rather  wont  to 
regard  yourself  as   occupying  in  the  Saviour's 
mind  such  a  place  as  a  star  in  the  firmament,  or 
a  symbol  in  a  formula,  or  a  leaf  in  the  forest,  or 
at  best  a  sheep  in  the  uncounted  fold  ?     If  these 
be  your  notions  go  back  to  Olivet.     Hear  the  Di- 
vine Intercessor  at  its  foot  exclaiming,  "  Neither 
pray  I  for  these  alone,  but  for  all  who  shall  hero- 
after  believe  through  their  word  ;"  and  hear  him 
promising,  ere  his  feet  sunder  from  its  grassy 
slopes,  "  And  lo,  I  am  with  you  alway,  even  to 
the  end  of  the  world  ;"  and  recollect  that  he  who 
prayed  thus  and  who  promised   thus  is  He   to 
whom  "  all  power   is   given   in  heaven  and  in 
earth  " — the  Alpha  and  Omega,  who  is,  and  was, 
and  is  to  come—the  Almighty.     Remember  thai 
in  his  comprehensive  eye  you   as  truly  had  a 
place  as  Peter  and  John,  and  in  his  all-sufficient 
love  you  have  a  place  as  specific  if  not  as  large 
as  they.     You  are  one  of  those  over  whom  he 
stretched  his  uplifted  hands,  and  pronounced  his 
parting  blessing.     You  are  one  of  those  to  whom 
he  has  promised  another  Comforter,  and  whom 
he  has  engaged  to  be  with  alway ;  and  though 
formal  teaching  may  forget  it,  and  your  own  cold 
heart  may  contradict  it,  if  you  belong  to  Christ  at 
til,  however  much  you  may  be  prized  and  cher- 
ished by  some  around  you,  there  is  One  unseen 
who  loves  you  more,  and  who  having  loved  you 
from  the  first  will  love  you  to  the  end. 
Except  his  bodily  absence,  there  is  no  altera- 


LECTURE     1. 


23 


lion  in  the  Friend  of  Sinners.  It  was  ineffable 
love  to  the  souls  of  men  that  brought  him  to  the 
manger,  and  that  love  was  nothing  less  when  he 
hasted  to  Jerusalem,  impatient  for  the  cross 
The  bloody  sweat  of  Gethsemane  did  not  ex 
haust  that  love — the  desertion  of  disciples  did 
not  damp  it,  and  the  soldiers'  buffeting  and  the 
rabble's  shouts  did  not  disgust  it.  It  was  love  to 
men,  which  in  the  ransomed  thief  for  a  moment 
brightened  his  dying  hour,  which  gave  him 
breath  to  cry,  "  Father,  forgive  them,'*  and 
strength  to  bow  the  head  and  give  up  the  ghost. 
Love  to  man  was  the  last  thing  which  left  the 
heart  of  Jesus,  and  the  first  thing  that  throbbed 
in  it  when  it  was  a  living  heart  again.  The 
darkness  of  Golgotha  had  not  eclipsed  it,  nor  in 
Joseph's  sepulchre  had  the  tomb-damp  tarnished 
it.  No  sooner  was  he  risen  indeed,  than  this 
love  glowed  again  so-  fervent  that  that  resurrec- 
tion evening  it  made  two  fliithful  hearts  on  their 
way  to  Emmaus  burn  wilnm  them,  and  after 
lighting  up  one  little  company  after  another  for 
forty  days,  in  a  burst  of  concentrated  kindness, 
in  a  blaze  of  final  blessing  it  vanished  from  them 
into  heaven.  And  in  the  same  manner  as  they 
saw  him  go,  we  shall  see  him  come ;  the  same 
mighty  yet  benignant  Saviour,  as  full  of  grace 
when  he  returns  the  Man  of  Joys  as  when  he 
first  and  for  ever  ceased  to  be  the  Man  of  Sor- 
rows. And,  oh  !  brethren,  do  you  learn  it — do 
you  believe  it.  Let  the  Mount  of  Olives  be  your 
incarnation  monument.  Let  the  road  from  Jeri- 
cho be  the  record  of  a  Saviour's  pity.  Let 
Gethsemane  be  the  measure  of  a  Saviour's  de- 


LECTURE     II. 


sire  for  souls,  and  lei  Bethany  be  the  token  how 
much  he  loves  his  own;  and  like  the  men  of 
Galilee,  let  the  last  and  habitual  aspect  of  the 
Saviour  be  that  look  which  lingered  on  their 
memory  till  one  by  one  they  passed  away  to  see 
him  as  he  is — that  look  which  spake  more  love 
than  even  his  melodious  blessing,  and  which, 
after  the  cloud  had  closed  him  from  their  view, 
made  them  loath  to  quit  the  Mount  of  Olives. 


LECTURE  n. 

THE   PARTING  PROMISE,   AND  THE  PRESSKT 

SAVIOUR. 


••  And,  lo,  I  am  with  you  alway,  even  unto  the  end  of 
the  world."— Matt,  xxviii,  20. 

There  are  some  plants  which  grow  right  up 
—erect  in  their  own  sturdy  self-sufficiency,  and 
there  are  some  feeble  ones  which  take  hold  with 
their  hands  and  clasp  and  climb.  The  soul  of 
man  is  like  these  last.  Even  in  his  best  estate 
he  was  not  meant  to  grow  insulated  and  stand 
alone.  He  is  not  strong  enough  for  that.  He 
has  not  within  himself  resources  sufficient  to  fill 
himself.  He  is  not  fit  to  be  his  own  all-m-ali. 
The  make  of  his  mind  is  an  out-gomg,  exploring, 
petitionary  make.  The  soul  of  man  is  a  clasp- 
ing, clinging  soul,  seeking  to  something  oyer 
which  it  can  spread  itself,  and  by  means  of  which 
it  can  support  itself.  And  just  as  in  a  neglected 
garden  you  may  see  the  poor  creepers  making 
shift  to  sustain  themselves  as  best  they  can ;  one 
convolvolus  twisting  round  another,  and  both 
draggling  on  the  ground  ;  a  clematis  leaning  on 
the  door  which  wijl  bye  and  bye  open  and  let  the 
whole  mass  fall  down ;  a  vine  or  a  passion-flower 
wreathing  round  a  prop  which  all  the  while  is 


26 


LECTURE     II. 


poisoning  it  •  so  in  this  fallen  world  it  is  moan- 

ful  10  see  the  efforts  which  human  souls  aremak- 
inf  to  get  some  efficient  object  to  lean  upon  and 
twine  around.     One  clasps  a  glittering  prop,  and 
it  poisons  him.     The  love  of  money  blasts  his 
soul,  and  it  hangs  round  its  self-chosen  stay  a 
blighted,  withered  thing.     Another  spreads  him- 
self more  amply  over  a  broad  surface  of  creature- 
comfort,-a  snug  dwelling,  and  a  weli-furnished 
library,  and  a  pleasant  neighbourhood,  with  the 
command  of  everything  that  heart  can  wish,  and 
a  steady  income  buy, — but  death  opens  the  door 
and,  with  nothing  but  vacancy  to  lean  upon,  he 
falls  over  on  the  other  side  all  helpless  and  de- 
jected.    And   a  still   greater   number,   groping 
about  along  the  ground,  clutch  to  one  another, 
and  intertwine  their  tendrils  mutually,  and  by 
forming  friendships  and  congenial  intimacies,  and 
close  relations,  try  to  satisfy  their  leaning  loving 
nature  in  this  way.     But  it  answers  little  end. 
The  make   of  man's  soul  is   upward,  and   one 
climber  cannot  lift  another  off'  the  ground.     And 
the  growth  of  man's  soul  is  luxuriant,  and  that 
growth  must  be  stifled,  checked  and  scanty,  if  he 
have  no  larger  space  over  which  to  diffuse  his 
aspirations,  his  affections,  and  his  eflTorts,  than  the 
surface  of  a  fellow-creature's  soul.     But,  weedy 
as  this  world-garden  is,  the  Tree  of  Life  still 
grows  in  the  midst  of  it,— erect  in  his  own  omni- 
potent self-sufficiency,  and  inviting  every  weary 
straggling  soul  to  lay   hold   of  hir   everlasting 
strength,  and  expatiate  upwards  along  the  infinite 
ramifications  of  his  endless  excellencies  and  aU- 
WTitiig  love. 


I,  ECT7RE     II. 


27 


God  has  formed  the  soul  of  man  of  a  leaning, 
dependant  make;  and  for  the  healthy  growth 
and  joyful  development  of  that  soul,  it  is  essen- 
tial that  he  should  have  some  object  far  higher 
and  nobler  than  himself  to  dispread  his  desires 
and  delights  upon.  That  object  is  revealed  in 
the  Gospel.  That  object  is  Immanuel.  His 
divinity  is  the  Almighty  prop — able  to  sustain  the 
adhering  soul,  so  that  it  shall  never  perish  nor 
come  into  condemnation — the  omnipotent  support 
which  bears  the  clinging  spirit  loftily  and  secure- 
ly, so  that  the  whirling  temptations  which  vex  it 
cannot  rend  it  from  the  Tree  of  Life,  and  that  the 
muddy  plash,  which  soils  and  beats  into  the  earth 
its  sprawling  neighbours,  cannot  tarnish  the  ver- 
dant serenity  and  limpid  glories  of  its  flowering 
head.  And  just  as  his  divine  strength  is  the 
omnipotent  prop  of  the  adhering  soul,  so  his  di- 
vine resources  and  his  human  sympathy  make 
him  the  all-sufficient  object,  over  which  each 
emotion  and  each  desire  of  regenerate  humanity 
may  boundlessly  diffuse  itself.  And  however 
delicate  your  feelings,  however  eager  your  affec- 
tions, and  however  multitudinous  the  necessities 
of  your  intricate  nature,  there  is  that  in  this 
Heavenly  Friend  which  meets  them  every  one 
There  are  in  his  unimaginable  compassions,  and 
in  his  benignant  fellow-feelings,  holds  sufficient 
for  every  craving  tendril  and  eager  clasper  of  the 
human  heart,  to  fix  upon  and  wreath  around. 

Tliis  is  what  the  Gospel  does.  It  just  oflTers 
you  a  friend,  who  can  both  save  and  satisfy  your 
soul.  Jesus,  the  Son  of  God,  God  manifest  in 
flesh,  Immanuel.  the  Gospel  offers  this  Friend  to 


LECTURE    II. 


you — ^not  more  tender  than  he  is  holy,  not  moro 
divine  than  he  is  human.     Instead  of  clutching 
to  props  which  cannot  elevate  you,  or  if  they  do 
bear  you  up  for  a  moment,  must  soon  he  with- 
drawn again, — the  Gospel  bids  you  grow  against 
the  Tree  of  Life,  and  just  as  you  grow  up  int« 
Christ,  you  will  grow  up  into  holiness  and  into 
happiness.     And  if  you  have  not  yet  found  an 
object  to  your  hearths  content, — if  you  feel  that 
there  is  still  something  wrong  with  you, — that 
you  are  neither  leading  the  life  which  you  would 
like  to  lead,  nor  enjoying  the  comfort  which  you 
think  might  be  somehow  got ;  be  advised.     Take 
the  Lord  Jesus  for  your  friend.     He  is  one  in 
whom  you  will  find  no  flaw.     He  is  one  of  whom, 
—if  you  really  get  acquainted  with  him, — you 
will  never  weary;  and  one,  who,  if  once  you 
really  go  to  Him,  will  never  weary  of  you.     He 
is  a  friend  of  whom  no  one  had  ever  reason  to 
complain — a  friend  who  has  done  so  much  for 
you  already,  that  he  would  have  done  enough 
even  though  he  were  never  to  do  any  more,  but 
who  is  so  generous,  that  his  thoughts  are  all  oc- 
cupied with  the  great  things  he  designs  to  do, — 
a  friend  who  is  singularly  kind  and  considerate, 
for  "  he  stickelh  closer  than  a  brother,"— a  friend 
who  does  not  vary,  "  for  he  is  the  same  yester- 
day, to-day,  and  for  ever,**— and,  best  of  all,  a 
friend  who  is  never  far  away,  for  "  Lo,  I  an  with 
you  alway.** 

My  dear  friends,— There  are  many  reasoni 
why  men  do  not  love  the  Lord  Jesus.  Some 
feel  no  need  of  him.  They  understand  that  he 
IS  a  Saviour;  but  a  Savour  is  what  they  do  no 


LECTURE     II. 


S9 


desire.     Others  have  no  congeniality  with  him 
They  ui  derstand  that  his  character  is  divine- 
that  Ws  love  of  holiness  is  as  intense  as  his  haired 
of  iniquity, — and  as  they  love  the  world,  and 
love  their  own  way,  and  love  the  pleasures  of  sin, 
they  feel  that  they  cannot  love  the  Lord  Jesus. 
But  the  hearts  of  some  towards  Christ  are  cold 
for  other  reasons.     Their  conceptions  regarding 
him  are  sufficiently  vague  and  dim  ;  but  so  far 
as  they  can  be  reduced  to  anything  definite,  we 
might  say  that  they  do  not  love  the  Lord  Jesus, 
because  they  habitually  think  of  Him  as  a  dead 
Saviour,  or  a  Saviour  different  from   what  he 
was,  or  a  distant  Saviour — a  Saviour  far  away. 
I.    Some  look  on   the  Lord  Jesus  as   dead. 
They  read  his  history  as  of  one  who  lived  long 
ago,'  but  who  is  not  living  now.     They  read 
Matthew's  narrative,  or  John's,  and  they  are  in- 
terested— for  the  moment  moved.     They  feel  that 
these  words  are  very  beautiful — that  this  stroke 
of  kindness  or  tenderness  was  very  touching — 
that  that  interposition  was  very  surprising.  They 
feel  that  the  whole  history  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth 
is  very  affecting;    and,  just  as  they  may  have 
wept  at  the  death  of  Socrates,  or  when  they  read 
the  martyrdom  of  the  saints  at  Lyons,  so  they 
may  have  felt  for  him  w^ho  had  not  the  fox's 
hole — they  may  have  Avept  when  they  saw  the 
son  of  Mary  hanging  on  the  tree.     And,  if  they 
were  visiting  Palestine,  they  might  linger  over 
many  a  silent  spot  with  a  solemn  impression. 
"  Is  this  the  grassy  mount  where  he  preached 
that  sormon  ?   Yon  lake,  rippling  round  its  pebbly 
margin,  is  it  the  one  he  so  often  crossed  ?  and 

3* 


30 


Ll  CTUEE    II. 


are  these  the  very  rocks  which  echoed  the  strong 
crying  of  his  midoight  prayers  ?"    But  there  they 
feel  as  if  it  ended.     They  look  on  it  all  as  a  tale 
that  is  past.     They  take  for  granted  that  it  all 
closed  on  Calvary — that  the  cross  was  the  con- 
clusion of  that  life — the  most  wonderful  life  that 
the  world  ever  saw— but  still  its  conclusion.    To 
them  Christ  is  dead,  not  living ;  and  therefore  no 
wonder  that  they  do  not  love  him.     You  may 
revere  the  character  of  those  long  ago  departed ; 
but  love  is  an  affection  reserved  for  the  living. 
You  will  only  love  the  Lord  Jesus  when  you 
come  to  believe  in  him  as  a  living  Saviour — one 
who  once  was  dead,  but  who,  once  dead,  dieth 
no  more.     Jesus  lives.     He  was  not  more  alive 
when  he  sat  at  Jacob's  well  than  he  is  alive  this 
moment.    He  was  not  more  alive  when  he  poured 
the  water  into  the  basin  and  washed  their  feet— 
not  more  alive  when  he  took  the  cup  and  made 
a  beginning  of  the  Remembrance-feast— not  more 
alive  when  he  rose  from  table  and  sang  the  pari 
mg  Hymn,  and  went  out  among   them  tD  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  than  he  is  living  now.     The 
Lord  Jesus  lives.     He  is  alive  for  evermore. 

n.  Some  do  not  love  the  Lord  Jesus  because 
they  look  on  him  as  an  altered  Saviour— as  differ 
ent  now  from  what  he  once  was.  Earthly  friends 
are  apt  to  change,  and  if  they  do  not  change,  they 
die.  When  a  visitor  comes  from  a  foreign  land 
where  you  once  sojourned,  you  ask  eagerly  abou* 
the  different  acquaintances  you  once  had  there. 
"  And  did  you  see  such  a  one  ?"  *•  Yes ;  but  you 
would  not  know  him,  he  is  so  greatly  altered." 
••  Did  he  remember  me  ?"    "  Well,  I  rather  think 


LECTURE     II. 


31 


ne  was  asking  for  you,  but  I  cannot  be  very  sure. 
He  has  got  other  things  to  occupy  his  thoughts 
since  you  and  he  were  wont  to  meet,"  "  And 
what  of  such  another  ?"  '*  Ah,  times  are  sadly 
changed  with  him.  You  would  be  sorry  to  see 
him  now.  I  believe  he  has  the  same  kind  heart 
as  ever ;  but  he  has  not  in  his  power  to  show  it 
as  he  used  to  do."  "  And  our  old  neighbour, 
who  lived  next  door  ?"  *'  Your  old  neighbour  ? 
dear  good  man,  he  is  safe  in  Abraham's  bosom. 
I  found  his  house  shut  up,  and  all  his  family 
gone  away."  And  it  is  very  seldom,  after  years 
of  absence,  that  you  hear  of  one  whose  outward 
circumstances  are  nowise  different  from  what 
they  were,  and  rarer  still  to  hear  of  one  whose 
dispositions  are  quite  unchanged. 

However,  One  there  is  who  wears  our  nature, 
but  is  not  liable  to  the  variations  of  mortality. 
"  Jesus  Christ  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
for  ever."  The  concurring  testimony  of  those 
who  have  seen  him  from  time  to  time,  along  a 
reach  of  some  thousand  years,  goes  to  prove  that 
the  Alpha  and  Omega,  the  friend  of  sinners,  can- 
not change.  He  who  talked  with  our  first  pa- 
rents in  the  cool  of  the  day  is  the  same  holy  yet 
condescending  one  that  he  ever  was,  and  loveth 
righteousness,  and  hateth  iniquity,  as  much  as 
when  the  first  sinners  ran  away  from  his  pure 
and  sin-repelling  presence.  The  heavenly  high 
priest  is  still  as  accessible  to  prayer,  and  as  ready 
to  yield  to  his  people's  entreaty,  as  when  he  six 
times  conceded  to  Abraham's  intercession.  The 
God  of  Bethel  is  still  the  faithful  keeper  of  his 
people  and  their  families  as  when  he  heard  Jacob 


m 


32 


LECTURE    II, 


in  the  day  of  his  distress,  and  was  with  him  in 
the  way  which  he  went.*  And  anything  which 
has  been  heard  of  him  since  he  went  back  to  his 
glory,  goes  to  prove  that  he  is  the  same  Saviour 
now  as  during  the  continuous  years  he  sojourned 
with  us. 

It  is  true,  there  are  some  circumstantial  differ- 
ences,  but  no  intrinsic  change.  There  is  more 
of  the  oil  of  gladness  on  him  than  when  the  Fa- 
ther first  anointed  him,  and  crowns  are  on  his 
head  which  have  been  planted  there  since  the 
work  given  him  to  do  was  finished.  His  satis- 
factions are  fuller,  as  he  continues  to  see  the 
travail  of  his  soul ;  and,  doubtless,  there  are  out- 
bursts of  his  glory  yet  to  come,  more  dazzling 
than  any  which  have  yet  astonished  heaven. 
But  still  the  mind  of  the  Lord  Jesus  is  the  same 
as  it  ever  was  ;  and  when  the  last  saint  sits  down 
beside  him  on  his  throne—when  the  fulness  of 
**  It  is  finished  "  comes  to  be  understood,  and 
word  is  brought  to  the  many  mansions  that  death 
is  dead,  and  that  time  is  now  no  more — the  re- 
deemed, as  they  bow  beneath  that  exceeding 
gloiy,  will  feel  that  it  is  still  the  gJory  of  the 
Lamb  that  was  slain — ^the  glory  of  the  friend  who 
sticketh  closec.  than  a  brother. 

III.  But  the  feelings  of  others  towards  the 
Lord  Jesus  are  vague  and  comfortless,  because 
ihey  think  tf  him  as  a  distant  Saviour— a  Saviour 
far  away.  The  Lord  Jesus  is  omnipresent.  He 
is  not  far  from  any  one  of  us.  His  flame- 
bright  eye  follows  the  Sabbath-breaker  through 
the  fields,  and  is  on  the  drunkard  as  he  reels  into 

•  Gen.  XXXV.  3. 


LKCTURE     II. 


33 


the  tavern.     It  reads  the  thought  of  the  liar  as 
he  forcres  his  falsehood,  and  looks  through  and 
through  that  heart  which  is  full  of  its  corrupt 
imacrinin^s.     It  notices  the  worldly  professor  at 
the  ""communion-table,  and   sees   the  unlehever 
tumblincr,  night  after  night,  into  his  prayerless 
bed      B'ut  though  the  Lord  Jesus  be  everywhere 
present,  he  is  present  with  his  own  people  in  a 
peculiar  relation.     He  is  with  them  as  a  Saviour. 
a  shepherd,  a  friend.     His  divine  presence  fills 
immensity ;  but  his  gracious  and  reconciled  pre- 
sence—his loving  and  interested  presence— his 
Saviour-presence— is  exclusively  with  his  own. 
So  constantly  is  the  Lord  Jesus  present  with  his 
people  that,  in  order  to  get  the  full  good  of  it, 
They  have  only  to  remember  the  fact.     From  the 
moment  that  a  man  becomes  a  disciple  ot  onnst, 
"  Lo  I  am  with  you  alway  "  becomes  a  promise 
to  that  man— a  promise,  the  performance  of  which 
is  never  for  a  moment  suspended  by  the  baviour, 
but  the  existence  of  which  is  often  forgot  by  the 
disciple.      But,  forgotten  or  remembered    it  is 
every  moment  true ;  and,  to  enjoy  the  full  bles- 
sedness of  this  assurance  you  have  only  to  re- 
member, to  realize  it.     Sometimes,  without  any 
effort  on  your  part,   the   conviction   will  da^^^l 
gently,  or  flash  brightly,  on  the  mmd,  and  you 
will  feel  for  a  moment  that  Jesus  is  with  you 
But  why  not  feel  it   alway  ?    for  it  is  alwayi 
tqually  true. 

A  elance  from  heaven,  with  sweet  effect, 
Sometimes  my  pensive  spirit  cheers ; 

But  ere  I  can  ray  thoughts  collect, 
M  suddenly  it  d  sappeara. 


^  LECTUaill. 

So  lightning  in  the  gloom  of  night 

Affords  a  momentary  day; 
Disclosing  objects  full  in  sight. 

Which,  soon  as  seen,  are  snatch'd  awiy 

The  lightning's  flash  did  not  create 
The  opening  prospect  it  reveal'd  ; 

But  only  show'd  the  real  state 
Of  what  the  darkness  had  conceal'd.* 

These  lightning-bursts,  these  momentary 
gleams,  are  just  the  hints  of  truth  which  the 
Holy  Spirit  darts  into  the  mind  from  time  to  time, 
revealmg  matters  as  they  really  are.  But  we 
ought  to  recollect,  that  even  during  the  dark  the 
solid  landscape  has  not  vanished,  but  is  only  hid. 
And  even  so,  when  Christ's  sensible  presence  is 
withdrawn,  we  should  remember  that  he  is  near 
as  ever,  and  it  is  the  believer's  wisdom  to  go  on 
m  the  joyful  strength  of  the  assurance,  "  Lo  I 
am  with  you."  * 

Let  me  mention  some  benefits  of  Christ's  per- 
petual presence  with  his  people,  especially  when 
that  presence  is  recollected  and  realized. 

1.  It  is  sanctifying.  The  company  of  an  earthly 
friend  is  often  influential  on  character.  If  he  be 
one  of  a  very  pure  and  lofty  mind,  and,  withal, 
one  who  has  gamed  an  ascendancy  over  your 
own  soul,  his  very  presence  is  a  talisman.  If  an 
angry  storm  be  gathering  in  your  bosom  or  lower- 
mg  m  your  countenance,  the  unexpected  sunshine 
01  his  heavenly  aspect  will  disperse  it  all  a^ain 
If  mean  or  unworthy  thoughts  were  creepine  into 
four  mmd,  the  interruption  of  his  noble  presence 
wiU  chase  them  all  away.     If  you  are  on  th« 

•  Newton. 


LECTURE    11. 


4)5 


f 


point  of  declining  some  difficult  enterprise  or 
evading  some  incumbent  duty,  the  glance  of  his 
rwionsirating  eye  will  at  once  shame  away  your 
indolence  or  cowardice,  and  make  you  up  and 
doing.  So  the  Saviour's  recollected  presence  is 
a  constant  reproof  and  a  ceaseless  incentive  to  an 
affectionate  disciple.  Is  he  provoked?  Is  his 
temper  ruffled  ?  Is  he  about  to  come  out  with 
some  sharp  or  cutting  sarcasm,  or  to  deal  the  in- 
dignant blow  ?  One  look  from  the  Lamb  of 
God  will  calm  his  spirit — will  cool  the  flush  of 
fury  in  his  burning  cheek — will  make  his  swell- 
ing heart  beat  softly.  Are  you  tempted?  Do 
evil  thoughts  arise  in  your  heart  ?  One  glance 
from  these  holy  eyes  can  chase  away  a  whole 
legion  of  devils,  and  banish  back  into  the  pit  each 
foul  suggestion.  Are  you  seized  with  a  lazy  or 
selfish  fit  ?  Are  you  wearying  of  work  which 
for  some  time  you  were  doing,  or  refusing  work 
which  God  is  now  giving  you  to  do  ?  Are  you 
angry  at  an  affliction,  or  averse  to  a  given  task? 
Lo  !  he  puts  to  his  hand  and  offers  to  help  you 
with  this  cross,  and  you  observe  that  it  is  a 
pierced  hand;  and  he  offers  to  go  before  and 
show  you  the  way,  and  you  notice  that  the  foot- 
prints are  bleeding,  and  it  wounds  you  to  think 
tha.  you  should  have  needed  such  an  admonition. 
Or  you  have  just  come  away  from  a  scene  of 
guilt — from  a  company  where  you  have  denied 
him — where  you  have  just  been  saying  by  your 
conduct,  by  your  silence,  or  your  words,  "  I  know 
not  the  man;"  and  as  you  encounter  the  eye  of 
Jesus,  whom  they  are  leading  away  to  crucify, 
0  Peter,  do  you  not  go  forth  and  weep  bitterly? 


LE  CTtJRE    I!. 


2.  Christ's  presence  is  sustaining.  The  Apos 
ties  were  wonderfully  calm  and  collected  men. 
People,  considering  that  they  were,  many  of 
them,  unlearned  and  ignorant,  were  amazed  at 
their  dignified  composure  in  most  difficult  cir- 
cumstances. It  was  scarcely  possible  to  alarm 
or  agitate  them.  When  brought  before  kings 
and  rulers,  it  was  usually  their  judges  who  trem- 
bled, but  they  themselves  were  tranquil.  And 
Paul  tells  us  the  secret  of  it.  When  he  himself 
was  brought  before  Caesar,  it  was  an  agitating 
occasion.  Nero  was  a  cruel  prince,  and  the  peo- 
ple looked  on  his  palace  much  as  they  would 
have  looked  on  a  leopard's  den.  An  order  has 
arrived  to  bring  the  Gallilean  prisoner  to  the  em- 
peror's judgment-hall.  The  Apostle  had  just 
lime  to  warn  a  few  friends,  and  like  enough  they 
came  and  condoled  with  him  ;  but  they  thought 
it  prudent  not  to  go  with  him  into  court.  It 
might  compromise  their  own  safety,  and  it  could 
do  him  no  effectual  good  ; — and  he  did  not  urge 
them.  The  soldiers  arrived,  and  he  went  away 
cheerily  with  them — the  old  weather-beaten  man 
—without  his  cloak,  for  he  had  left  it  at  Troas  ; 
without  his  friends,  for  he  had  left  them  behind 
at  his  own  hired  house — as  forlorn  as  ever  pri- 
soner stood  before  Caesar.  And  how  was  it  that 
the  infirm  old  man  passed,  with  so  serine  a  Icok, 
the  clashing  swords  and  scowling  sentries  at  the 
palace-front?  How  was  it  that  he  trod  the 
gloomy  gateway  with  a  step  so  im\  of  merry  mno- 
cence  and  martyr-zeal,  and  never  noticed  Nero*s 
lions  snuffling  and  howling  in  their  hungry  den? 
And  how  was  it  that  in  the  dim  and  dangerout 


LE  C7   JR  E     II. 


37 


presence-chamber,  where  cruelty  sat  upon  the 
throne  of  luxury,— how  was  it  that,  with  that 
wolf  up  )n  the  judgment-seat  and  those  blood- 
hounds all  around  him— with  none  but  pacrans 
present,  and  not  one  believing  friend  to  bear  thee 
company— how  was  it,  O  Paul !  that  in  such  an 
hour  of  peril,  instead  of  pleading  not  guilty,  and 
falhng  down  on  suppliant  knees,  thou  didst"  com- 
mit  the  very  crime  they  charged  against  thee— 
the  crime  of  loyalty  to  Jesus— and  urge  Christ's 
claims    on    Csesar  ?      Why   the    secret   of    this 
strange   courage  was,  "  At  my  first  answer  no 
man  stood  with  me,  but  all  f<^rsook  me.     Not- 
withstanding,   THE    Lord    stood   with   me   and 
strengthened  me,  that  by  me  the  preachino-  mio-ht 
be  fully  known,  and  that  all  the  Gentiles  miSht 
hear;  and  I  was  delivered  out  of  the  mouth V 
the  lion." 

And  you,  my  friends,  will  all  be  brought  into 
agitating  circumstances.     It  is  not  likely  that  it 
will  be  said  to  you,  "  Fear  not,  for  thou  must 
stand  before  Caesar."     But  you  may  be  arraigned 
before  terrible  tribunals— the  tribunal  of  pSblic 
opinion— the   tribunal   of  private    afl^ection— the 
tribunal  of  worldly  interest— for  Christ'^  name's 
sake.     From  time   to   time   you   may    'e  con- 
strained to  pass  through  ordeals  which  will  make 
you  understand  how  Paul  felt  when  passing  in  at 
the  palace-gate.     When  called  to  give  your  tes- 
timony for  Christ,  the  flesh  may  be  weak,  and 
the  willing  word  may  be  like  to  expire  in  your 
choking  utterance.     Wordly  wisdom  may  beckon 
^ou  back,  and,  like  Paul's  fearful  friends,  cau- 
tious or  carnal  Christians  may  refuse  to  support 


LECTURE     II. 


you      II  IS  not  Nero's  hall,  but  a  quiet  parloni 
you  are  entering ;  but  before  you  come  out  again 

;ou  may  be  a  poor  man,  or  a  friendless  one. 
'he  Yes  or  No  of  one  faithful  moment  may  have 
spurned  the  ladder  of  promotion  from  under  your 
feet,  and  dashed  your  brightest  hopes  on  this  side 
the  grave.  Or,  by  the  time  the  letter  you  are 
now  penning  is  closed  and  sealed  and  posted,  and 
the  sinful  assent,  or  the  compromising  proposal, 
or  the  resolute  refusal  is  written,  the  Lord  Jesus 
will  have  said,  **  I  know  thy  works,  that  tnou 
hast  a  name  that  thou  livest  and  art  dead ;"  or, 
**  I  know  thy  works,  that  thou  art  neither  cold 
oor  hot ;"  or,  "  I  know  thy  works ;  behold,  I 
have  set  before  thee  an  open  door,  and  no  man 
can  shut  it ;  for  thou  hast  a  little  strength,  and 
hast  kept  my  word,  and  hast  not  denied  my 
name.  I  also  will  keep  thee."  In  such  fiery 
trials  of  love  and  fidelity,  there  is  nothing  so 
sure  to  overcome  as  the  recollected  presence  of 
•*  Lo  !  I  am  with  you."  And  oh  !  it  is  sweeter, 
like  the  three  holy  children,  to  pace  up  and  down 
beneath  the  furnace'  flaming  vault,  arm  in  arm 
with  the  Son  of  Man,  than  to  tread  the  green 
pastures  of  an  earthly  promotion  or  a  carnal  tran- 
quillity purchased  by  the  denial  of  Jesus,  and  so 
with  the  wrath  of  the  Lamb. 

3.  Comforting.  You  have  noticed  the  differ- 
ence in  travelling  the  same  road  solitary  and  in 
pleasant  company.  "  What !  we  are  not  here 
ilready  !  It  takes  three  hours  to  do  it,  and  we 
have  not  been  half  that  time.  Well,  I  could  not 
have  believed  it ;  but  then  I  never  before  travel- 
led it  with  you.'*    No  douh  Cleopas  and  hit 


LECTURE     II. 


39 


comrade  used  to  think  the  road  from  Jerusalem 
to  Emmaus  long  enough,  and  were  very  glad 
when  they  reached  the  fiftieth  furlong.  But  that 
evening  when  the  stranger  from  Jerusalem  joined 
them,  they  grudged  every  waymark  which  they 
passed  ;  and  as  in  the  progress  of  his  expositions 
I\Ioses  and  all  the  prophets  beamed  with  light 
from  heaven,  and  their  own  hearts  glowed  warmer 
and  warmer,  they  would  fain  have  counted  the 
niile-siones  back  again.  "  How  vexing  '  This 
is  Emmaus  ;  but  you  must  not  go  on.  '  Abide 
with  us,  for  the  day  is  far  spent.'  "  Any  road 
which  you  travel  solitary  is  long  enough,  and 
any  stage  of  life's  journey  where  no  one  is  with 
you,  will  be  dreary  and  desolate.  But  you  need 
have  no  such  companionless  stages — no  such 
cheerless  journeys.  If  you  be  a  disciple,  the 
Lord  Jesus  always  is  with  3^ou.  And  whether 
they  be  the  silent  weeks  which  you  spend  in  search 
of  health  in  some  far  away  and  stranger-looking 
place,  or  the  long  voyage  in  the  sea-roaming  ship, 
or  the  shorter  journey  in  the  rattling  stage  or 
railway  car — if,  in  readii%,  or  musing,  or  lifting 
up  your  heart,  you  can  realize  that  Saviour's 
presence,  who  is  about  your  path  and  compasses 
all  your  ways,  you  will  be  almost  sorry  when 
such  a  journey  is  ended,  and  when  sicch  a  soli- 
tude is  exchanged  for  more  wonted  society.  I 
can  almost  believe  that  John  Bunyan  left  Bed* 
ford  jail  with  a  sort  of  trembling,  fearing  that  he 
might  never  find  again  such  a  Bethel  as  he  had 
found  in  that  narrow  cell  for  the  last  twelve 
years ;  and  I  can  understand  how  Samuel  Ruth- 
erford   wrote    from    his    place   of    banishment, 


10 


IiE  C  T  U  R  E     II 


*  Christ  hath  met  me  in  Aberdeen,  and  my  ad 
Tersaries  have  sent  me  here  to  be  feasted  with 
nis  love.     I  would  not  have  believed  that  there 
was  so  much  in  Jesus  as  there  is.     But  '  Come 
and  sec,'  maketh  Christ  be  known  in  his  excel- 

ency  and  glory." 

The  presence  of  Christ  can  turn  a  dark  night 
into  a  night  much  to  be  remembered.  Perhaps 
it  is  time  to  be  sleeping,  but  the  November  wind 
is  out,  and  as  it  riots  over  the  misty  hills,  and 
dashes  the  rain-drift  on  the  rattling  casement, 
and  howls  like  a  spirit  distracted  in  the  tireless 
chimney,  it  has  awakened  the  young  sleeper  in 
the  upper  room.  And  when  his  mother  enters, 
she  finds  him  sobbing  out  his  inf^uit  fears,  or  with 
b©ating  heart  hiding  from  the  noisy  danger  in  the 
depths  of  his  downy  pillow.  But  she  puts  the 
candle  on  the  table,  and  sits  down  beside  the 
bed;  and  as  he  hears  her  assuring  voice,  and 
espies  the  gay  comfort  in  her  smiling  face,  and 
^s  she  puts  her  hand  over  his,  the  tear  stands 
still  upon  his  cheek,  till  it  gets  time  to  dry,  and 
the  smoothing  down  o||the  panic  furrows  on  his 
brow,  and  the  brightening  of  his  eye  announce 
that  he  is  ready  for  whatever  a  mother  has  got  to 
tell.  And  as  she  goes  on  to  explain  the  mysteri- 
ous sources  of  his  terror — *'  That  hoarse  loud 
roaring  is  the  brook  tumbling  over  the  stones ; 
for  the  long  pouring  rains  have  filled  it  to  the 
very  brim.  It  is  up  on  the  green  to-night,  and 
liad  the  cowslips  been  in  blossom  thev  would  al. 
have  been  drowned.  Ye^agd  that  thump  on 
the  window.  It  is  the  old  cedar  at  the  corner 
of  the  house,  and  as  the  wind  tosses  his  stiflf 


LECTURE    II 


41 


branches  they  bounce  and  scratch  on  the  panes 
of  glass,  and  if  they  were  not  very  small  they 
would  be  broken  in  pieces."  And  then  she  goea 
on  to  tell  how  this  very  night  there  are  people 
out  in  the  pelting  blast,  whilst  her  little  boy  lies 
warm  in  his  crib,  inside  of  his  curtains ;  and  how 
ships  may  be  upset  on  the  deep  sea,  or  dashed  to 
pieces  on  rocks  so  steep  that  the  drowning  sailors 
cannot  climb  them.  And  then  perhaps  she  ends 
it  all  with  breathing  a  mother's  prayer,  or  he 
drops  asleep  beneath  the  cradle-hymn. 

And  why  describe  all  this?  Because  there  is 
so  much  practical  divinity  in  it.  In  the  history 
of  a  child,  a  night  like  this  is  an  important  night 
for  it  has  done  three  things.  It  has  explained 
some  things  which,  unexplained,  would  have 
been  a  source  of  constant  alarm— perhaps  the 
germ  of  superstition  or  insanity.  It  has  taught 
some  precious  lessons— sympathy  for  sufferers, 
(rratitude  for  mercies,  and  perhaps  some  pleasant 
thought  of  Him  who  is  the  hiding-place  from  the 
storm  and  the  covert  from  the  tempest.  And 
then  it  has  deepened  in  that  tender  bosom  the 
foundations  of  filial  piety,  and  helped  to  give  that 
parent  such  hold  and  purchase  on  a  filial  heart 
as  few  wise  mothers  have  ever  failed  to  win,  and 
no  manly  son  has  ever  blushed  to  own. 

Then  for  the  parallel.  "  As  one  whom  hit 
mother  comforteth,  so  the  Lord  comforteth  his 
people."  It  is  in  the  dark  and  boisterous  night 
of  sorrow  or  apprehension  that  the  Saviour  re- 
veals himself  nigh.  And  one  of  the  first  things 
he  does  is  to  explain  the  subject  matter  of  the 
grief,  to  show  its  real  nature  and  amount.  "  It 
4*^ 


42 


LICTTTRE     II. 


18  but  a  light  affliction.  It  lasts  but  for  a  mo* 
ment.  It  is  a  false  alarm.  It  is  only  the  rain- 
drift  on  the  window — wait  till  the  day  dawns  and 
•hadows  flee  away.  Wait  till  morning  jind  you 
will  see  the  whole  extent  of  it."  And  then  the 
next  thing  that  he  does  is  to  teach  some  useful 
lesson.  And  during  those  quiet  hours,  when  the 
heart  is  soft,  the  Saviour's  lessons  sink  depp. 
And  last  of  all,  besides  consolation  under  the  trial 
and  peaceful  fruits  that  follow  it,  by  this  com- 
forter-visit, the  Saviour  unspeakably  endears  him- 
self to  that  soul,  Paul  and  Silas  never  knew 
Christ  so  well  nor  loved  him  so  much  as  after 
that  night  which  he  and  they  passed  together  in 
the  Macedonian  prison.  And  the  souls  on  which 
the  Lord  Jesus  has  taken  the  deepest  hold,  are 
those  whose  great  tribulations  have  thrown  them 
most  frequently  and  most  entirely  into  his  own 
society. 

But  we  hasten  to  a  close.  We  have  seen  the 
meaning  of  the  words  so  far — Lo,  I  am  with  you 
alway ;  I  am  with  you  to  succour  in  temptation, 
tc  strengthen  in  duty,  to  guide  in  perplexity,  to 
comfort  in  sorrow.  From  the  instant  you  becomo 
a  disciple  I  am  with  you  all  along.  I  am  with 
you  every  day.  All  your  life  I  am  with  you — 
and  at  death  ? — at  death  you  are  with  me.  That's 
the  difference.  Arpresent  I  am  always  with  you, 
but  you  are  not  always  with  me.  At  present 
Jesus  is  constantly  near  his  own,  but  his  own  do 
not  constantly  desire  to  be  near  him.  Here  it  is 
only  by  faith  that  believers  enjoy  his  presence. 
There  they  shall  see  him  as  he  is.  Now  the 
Lord  Jesus  follows  his  own  whithersoever  they 


LECTURE     II. 


45 


' 


go,  but  they  do  not  always  follow  him.  Then  it 
will  be  different,  for  they  will  follow  the  Lamb 
whithersoever  he  goeth.  And  all  that  is  wanting 
jo  complete  the  promise  is  what  death's  twinkling 
will  supply.  Now  it  is,  "  Lo,  I  am  with  you  al- 
way,'*— and  then  it  is,  •'  And  so  shall  we  be  ever 
with  the  Lord." 

"  Ever  with  the  Lord."  At  once  and  for 
ever.  At  once — for  absent  from  the  body,  we 
are  present  with  Him.  So  near  is  Jesus  now, 
that,  like  the  infant  waking  from  its  dream,  it 
looks  up,  and  lol  she  sits  beside  it — waking  up 
from  this  life-dream,  the  first  sight  is 'Jesus  as  he 
is.  At  once — no  flight  through  immensity — no 
pilgrimage  of  the  spheres — for  the  everlasting 
arms  are  the  first  resting-place  of  the  disem- 
bodied soul — it  will  be  in  the  bosom  of  Imman- 
uel  that  the  emancipated  spirit  will  inquire, 
"  Where  am  I  ?"  and  read  in  the  face  of  Jesus 
the  answer,  "  For  ever  with  the  Lord."  For 
ever — To  be  with  him  for  a  few  years,  as  one 
Way  with  another  John  and  Peter  were — to  be 
with  him  one  Lord's  day  as  the  beloved  disciple 
subsequently  was — to  be  with  him  a  few  mo- 
ments, as  Paul  caught  up  into  the  third  heavens 
was — how  blessed  !  But  to  be  ever  with  the 
Lord — not  only  to-day,  but  to-morrow — nay 
neither  to-day*  nor  to-morrow,  but  now,  now 
one  everlasting  now ! 

For  ever  with  the  Lord  ! 

Amen  !  so  let  it  be  ; 
Life  from  the  dead  is  :'n  that  word^ 
*Tis  immortality 


LECTURE     III 


45 


LECTURE  in. 

THE   HEARER  OF  PRATE E ! 

THE    INTERCESSOR    ABOVE 

THE    PROMPTER   WITHIN. 


••  Oh  thou  tha4  ^®arest  prayer."— Pbalm  Ixv.  2. 

••Jesus  is  able  to  save  them  to  the  uttermost  that  com« 
unto  God  by  him,  seeing  he  ever  liveth  to  make  inter- 
cession for  them. — Heb.  vii.  25. 

••The  Spirit  helpeth  our  infirmities:  for  we  know  not 
what  we  should  pray  for  as  we  ought,  but  the  Spirit 
himself  maketh  intercession  for  us  with  groaninjrs 
which  cannot  be  uttered."— Rom.  viii.  26. 

The  only  proper  object  of  worship  is  Gocl-^ 
the  hving  and  true  God— Triune  Jehovah.  Fa- 
ther, Son,  and  Holy  Spirit.  According  to  the 
nature  of  the  blessings  implored  or  the  mercies 
acknowledged,  we  have  instances  of  prayer  ad- 
dressed to  all  the  Persons  of  the  blessed  God- 
head ;  but  the  tenor  of  Scripture  shows  that  in 
the  economy  of  grace,  prayer  is  usually  addressed 
to  the  Father  through  the  Son,  and  by  the  Holy 
Ghost.  God  in  Christ  is  the  object  of  Christian 
worship,  and  the  author  of  that  worship  h  the 
Holy  Spirit,  as  the  Spirit  of  Christ. 

I.  God  is  the  hearer  of  prayer. 

Dear  friends,  I  am  not  sure  that  you  all  hmve 
ft  distinct  conviction  of  the  power  of  prayer.     J 


am  not  sure  that  you  all  have  that  confidence  in 
its  efficacy,  which  makes  prayer  an  interesting 
exercise  on  ordinary  occasions,  or  a  natural  and 
hopeful  resource  on  occasions  of  perplexity  and 
alarm.  As  the  result  of  your  o^vn  musings,  or  ot 
others'  reasonings,  you  may  either  have  ceased 
to  pray,  or  you  may  pray  despondingly,  as  very 
doubtful  if  prayer  has  any  power  at  all,  or  your 
so-called  prayer  may  be  a  series  of  devout  ascrip- 
tions without  containing  a  single  earnest  suppli- 
cation. I  shall  read  a  prayer  found  among  the 
pjipers  of  one  of  the  most  amiable  of  worldly 
philanthropists  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  tal- 
ented of  modern  jurists.  In  the  single  element  oJ 
gratitude  for  temporal  blessings,  it  so  far  sur 
passes  the  prayers  of  many  Christians,  that  we 
cannot  biit  grieve  that  it  wants  what  no  Chris- 
tian prayer  should  want—"  The  offering  of  de- 
sires unto  God  in  the  name  of  Christ." 

"  Almighty  God  !  Creator  of  all  things  !  the 
source  of  all  wisdom,  and  goodness,  and  virtue, 
and  happiness,  I  bow  down  before  thee — not  to 
offer  up  prayers,  for  I  dare  not  presume  to  think 
or  hope  that  thy  most  just,  unerring,  and  supreme 
will  can  be  in  any  degree  influenced  by  any  sup- 
plications of  mine — nor  to  pour  forth  praises  and 
adorations,  for  I  feel  that  I  am  unworthy  to  offer 
them — but  in  all  humility,  and  with  a  deep  sense 
of  my  own  insignificance,  to  express  the  thanks 
of  a  happy  and  contented  being,  for  the  innumer- 
able benefits  which  he  enjoys.  I  cannot  reflect 
that  I  am  a  human  being,  living  in  civilized  so- 
ciety, born  the  member  of  a  free  state,  the  son  of 
virtuous  and  tender  parents,  blest  with  an  ample 


f* 


LECTURE    III. 


LECTURE     III. 


4? 


formne,  endowed  with  faculties  which  have  ena- 
bled me  to  ac(jittre  that  fortune  myself,  enjoying 
a  lair  reputat  n,  beloved  by  my  relations, 
esteemed  by  my  friends,  thought  well  of  by  most 
of  my  countrymen  to  whom  my  name  is  known, 
iinited  to  a  kind,  virtuous,  enlightened,  and  most 
alleciionale  wife,  the  father  of  seven  children,  all 
in  perfect  health,  and  all  giving  by  the  goodness 
of  their  dispositions,  a  promise  of  future  excel- 
lence, and  though  myself  far  advanced  in  life, 
vet  still  jKr  tjd  of  health  and  strength  which 
seem  to  afford  me  the  prospect  of  future  years  of 
enjoyment.  I  cannot  reflect  on  all  these  things 
and  not  express  my  gratitude  to  thee,  O  God  I 
(Vol  11  whom  all  this  good  has  flowed.  I  am  sin- 
cerely grateful  for  all  this  happiness.  I  am 
sincerely  grateful  for  the  happiness  of  all  those 
who  are  most  dear  to  me,  of  my  beloved  wife, 
of  my  sweet  childi?n,  of  my  relations,  and  of 
my  friends. 

"  I  prostrate  myself,  0  Almighty  and  Omnis- 
cient God,  before  thee.  In  endeavouring  to  con- 
lemplaie  thy  divine  attributes,  I  seek  to  elevate 
my  soul  towards  thee  ;  I  seek  to  improve  and  en- 
noble my  fiiculiies,and  to  strengthen  and  quicken 
my  ardour  for  the  public  good ;  and  I  appear  to 
myself  to  rise  above  my  earthly  existence,  while 
I  am  indulging  the  hope  that  I  may  at  some  time 
prove  an  humble  instrument  in  the  divine  work 
of  enbrging  the  sphere  of  human  happiness."* 

This  is  the  thankful  but  n>elancholy  prayer 
of  a  man  as  virtuous,  and,  we  may  add.  as  de- 
rout  as  any  man  can  be  who  has  not  the  clear 

•  «•  Lile  of  Sir  S.  Romilly,"  vol.  iii..  p  78. 


i 
■ 


convictions  and  lively  hopes  of  a  believer  in 
Jesus.  But  even  in  this  act  of  devotion  he  does 
not  venture  to  offer  up  a  single  petition, — for  he 
dares  not  think  that  the  will  of  the  Almighty  can 
in  any  way  be  influenced  by  any  supplication  of 
his.  And  what  this  gifted  lawyer  wrote  in  his 
meditative  retirement,  others  tacitly  think,  or 
openly  avow.  They  feel  as  if  the  creation  were 
so  vast,  and  its  concerns  so  multifarious,  that  it 
is  impossible  that  even  Omniscience  can  have  an 
ear  for  all  their  petitions.  Or  they  feel  that  the 
Creator  is  so  exalted, — his  throne  so  high  and 
lifted  up, — that  it  is  not  fit  for  them  to  approach 
it.  Or  they  feel  that  the  laws  of  nature  are  so 
fixed,  and  the  decrees  of  the  Eternal  so  determin- 
ate, that  it  is  only  presumption  to  expect  that  any 
earnestness  or  importunity  of  theirs  can  alter 
them.  Such  thousfhts  do  arise  in  some  men's 
hearts.  By  some  they  are  sported  flippantly,  by 
others  they  are  felt  painfully ;  but  they  are  as 
erroneous  as  they  are  fatal  to  hope  and  efllbrt,  as 
preposterous  as  they  are  paralyzing  ;  and  a  few 
considerations,  carefully  pondered,  may,  by  the 
blessing  of  God,  set  your  minds  conclusively  at 
rest  on  this  and  like  misgivings. 

And  first  of  all,  it  must  be  remembered,  that 
the  human  mind  has  a  much  greater  talent  at 
asking  questions  than  at  answering  them,  and 
many  rhinds  have  a  greater  propensity  to  raise 
doubts  and  start  difficulties,  than  to  repose  m  that 
scanty  measure  of  truth  which  is  already  ascer- 
tained and  infallible.  I  am  speaking  not  of 
things  7iecessary,h\ii  of  things  co'itinge?it  j  and 
by  truth  ascertained  and  infallible,  I  mean  know- 


€8' 


LECTURE     III. 


ledge  which  does  not  rest  on  mere  opmion,  but 
knowledge  which  comes  to  us  in  the  4ape  of  w. 
fmrmatmn.  Anything  which  I  am  told  by  a 
credible  witness  is  information,  and  so  is  any- 
thing which  comes  to  my  knowledge  through 
any  of  my  own  live  senses,  and  so  is  any  know- 
ledge that  I  gain  directly  by  attending  to  the  pro- 
cesses and  feelings  of  my  own  mind.  But  any 
notion  vvhich  does  not  come  from  one  or  other  of 
these  three  legitimate  sources, — sensation,  con- 
sciousness, or  competent  testimony, — is  good  for 
nothing.  It  may  be  an  ingenious  hypothesis,  or 
a  plausible  opinion,  but  it  is  not  matter  of  fact ; 
it  is  not  information.  Till  it  assume  a  positive 
form  it  is  not  knowledge,  and  I  have  no  security 
for  its  eventual  truth. 

Now,  excepting  mathematical  truth,  which  has 
no  connexion  with  the  present  subject,  we  re- 
peat, that  the  human  mind  can  attain  no  sure 
and  infallible  knowledge,  except  that  which  it 
gets  in  the  positive  form;  that  knowledge  for 
which  it  has  the  evidence  of  its  own  senses  or 
personal  consciousness,  or  the  senses  and  con- 
sciousness of  others.  Beyond  this  the  human 
mind  cannot  go.  If  they  be  not  the  limited  facta 
which  we  have  discovered  for  ourselves,  for  all 
beyond  we  are  at  the  mercy  of  others  who  know 
better  than  ourselves — that  is,  of  others  who  have 
seen  and  feit  and  handled  what  we  have  not — 
and  to  expect  to  come  at  absolute  knowledge  in 
any  other  way  is  to  expect  an  impossibility. — 
The  hawk  may  fly  higher  than  the  sparrow,  and 
tho  eagle,  again,  may  soar  above  them  both,  but 
none  of  them  can  rise  beyond  the  atmosphere. 


:\ 


LECTURE     IIT. 


49 


An  European  may  know  more  than  a  savage, 
and  a  scholar  may  know  more  than  either ;  but 
none  of  them  can  know  for  certain  anything  ex- 
cept fkcts^  which  they  have  observed  for  them- 
selves, or  facts  which  have  been  revealed  to  them 
by  others. 

But  whilst  these  are  the  limits  of  human  cer- 
tainty, they  are  not  the  limits  of  human  curiosi- 
ty. In  our  anxiety  to  be  wise,  beyond  what  is 
ascertainable,  we  have  invented  a  transcendenta. 
Metaphysics, — a  science  on  which  the  acutest  of 
human  intellects  have  bestowed  themselves,  and 
to  whose  literature  some  of  the  most  eloquent 
argument  and  finest  fancy  of  ancient  times  and 
modern  has  been  contributed — but  a  science 
which,  amidst  all  its  curious  questions  and  doubt- 
some  answers — the  accumulation  of  two  thousand 
years — has  not  added  a  single  atom  to  the  do- 
main of  ascertained  truth  or  actual  knowledge. 
If  you  could  conceive  the  fowls  of  heaven  sud- 
denly seized  with  a  strong  desire  to  get  away 
from  this  globe  altogether, — if  you  could  imagine 
them  all  at  different  elevations  in  the  atmosphere 
according  to  the  strength  of  their  pinions,  or  the 
lightness  of  their  forms,  but  all,  beak  uppermost, 
struggling  and  fluttering,  and  screwing  their  way 
a  little  and  a  little  higher  in  the  rarified  medium, 
you  would  have  a  very  exact  idea  of- the  object 
of  metaphysical  inquiry,  and  the  position  of  its 
several  votaries.  Its  object  is  to  ascertain  truths 
regarding  which  we  have  no  information,  and 
there  may  doubtless  be  many  such  truths, — but 
are  they  ascertainable  ?  There  are  other  planets 
besides  this  one,  and  we  have  supposed  the  case 


m 


LECTURE     III. 


of  the  fowls  of  heaven  wishing  to  reach  them,-— 
but  are  they  accessible  ?  A  bird  of  powerful 
pinion,  or  singular  lightness,  may  rise  a  mile 
above  his  fluttering  competitors,  and  as  an  affair  of 
aerial  gymnastics,  the  fruitless  effort  may  be  good 
practice;  but  the  wing  which  is  farthest  above 
the  surface  is  still  a  thousand  times  farther  from 
the  next  nearest  world ;  and  so  in  the  metaphy- 
sical contest  to  get  away  from  the  regions  of  ab- 
solute information — the  terra  firirm  of  positive 
truth,  there  has  been  a  wonderful  display  of  men- 
tal power  and  buoyancy,  but  the  subtile  spirit 
which  has  mounted  the  highest  above  the  ascer- 
tained and  the  actual  of  our  restricted  humanity, 
is  still  infinitely  distant  from  tlie  next  nearest 
domain  of  knowledge.  As  some  one  has  truly 
remarked,  "  To  know  more,  we  first  must  bi 
more."* 

It  is  not  a  popular  doctrine,  but  it  is  ono  to 
which  the  world  is  slowly  coming  round— of  con- 
tingent truth  we  can  know  nothing  regardinfif 
which  we  have  not  positive  information,  and  be- 
yond these  limits  to  wonder  what  things  there 
are,  or.  how  such  and  such  things  can  be,  is  to 
vex  ourselves  in  vain.  Those  things  which  I 
have  observed  for  myself,  and  those  which  others 
have  told  me,  make  up  a  solid  basis  of  truth, — a 
ierra  firma  A  fact.  If  I  am  dissatisfied  with  its 
narrow  \m^'^  may  fling  myself  over  into  the 
ibvss  of  specci  :iflon,  and  finding  in  every  deep  a 
deeper  still,  perish  at  last  in  total  scepticism ;  or 
C  may  try  to  soar  upwards  into  a  transcendental 
legion,  and  after  fruitless  efforts  to  be  wise  be- 

•  Lewes*  "  History  cf  Philosophy." 


LECTURE    III. 


51 


yond  my  nature's  capacity,  be  content  to  fold  my 
weary  pinions  at  last  on  the  homely  landing-place 
of  common  sense  and  tangible  truth.  There,  and 
there  only,  on  the  solid  ground  of  information, 
on  the  firm  footing  of  what  I  have  observed  for 
myself,  or  others  have  told  me,  can  I  find  a  per- 
manent rest  for  my  spirit,  and  a  secure  starting- 
point  for  eternity. 

Applying  these  principles  to  the  case  before  us, 
we  do  not  ask  what  anterior  probabilities  are 
there  that  prayer  is  heard  and  answered  y  But 
what  proof?  Can  we  say  from  our  own  experi- 
ence, or  have  we  reason  to  believe,  on  competent 
authority,  that  prayer  has  actual  power  ? 

Now,  it  is  conclusive  on  the  entire  subject,  that 
for  the  efficacy  of  prayer  we  have  the  assurance 
of  God  himself.     "  The  eyes   of  the  Lord   ar« 
over  the  righteous,  and  his  ears  are  open  unto 
their  prayers."     "  Delight  thyself  in  the  Lord, 
and  he  shall  give  thee  the  desires  of  thine  heart." 
"  Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord ;  trust  also  in 
him,  and  he  shall  bring  it  to  pass."     "  Call  upon 
me  in  the  day  of  trouble,  and  I  will  answer  thee." 
And  lest  we  should  desire  more  definite  informa- 
tion we  have  it.     "  No  man  hath  seen  God  at 
any  time, — the  only-begotten  Son,  who  is  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Father,  he  hath   declared  him." 
There  was  once  amongst  us  one  who  knew  pre- 
cisely the  reception  which  prayers  are  wont  \o 
meet  with  in  the  Court  of  Heaven.     There  was 
once  on  earth  one  who  could  testify,  on  this  mat- 
ter, what  he  had  seen,  and  who  could  tell  dis- 
tinctly whether  the  prayers  of  earth  are  audible 
in  the  upper  sanctuary,  and  how  far  the  high  and 


LE  C  Tir  R  E     III. 


Holy  One  is  disposed  to  regard  and  answer  them ; 
and  nothings  can  be  more  encouraging  than  the 
language  of  this  Faithful  Witness.  "  When  thoa 
prayest,  enter  into  thy  closet;  and  when  thou 
hast  shut  thy  door,  pray  to  thy  Father  who  is  in 
secret ;  and  thy  Father  who  seeth  in  secret  shall 
reward  thee  openly."  "  I  say  unto  you,  that  if 
two  of  you  shall  agree  on  earth,  as  touching  any- 
thing that  they  shall  ask,  it  shall  be  done  for  them 
of  my  Father  who  is  in  heaven."  *'  Whatsoever 
ye  shall  ask  in  my  name,  that  will  I  do,  that  the 
Father  may  be  glorified  in  the  Son."  "  Ask, 
and  it  shall  be  given  you ;  seek,  and  ye  shall 
find ;  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you  : 
for  every  one  that  asketh  receiveth ;  and  he  that 
Beeketh  findeth;  and  to  him  that  knocketh  it 
shall  be  opened." 

So  conclusive  are  these  and  similar  declara- 
tions, that  no  farther  warrant  should  be  needful 
to  give  precision  and  hopeful  earnestness  to  our 
petitions.  We  have  the  living  God  himself  as- 
suring us  that  he  is  prepared  to  accept,  and  con- 
sider, and  answer  them ;  and  we  have  the  Son 
of  God  himself  come  down  from  the  bosom  of  the 
Father,  the  appointed  medium  of  communication 
betwixt  heaven  and  earth ;  we  have  the  Interces- 
sor himself  declaring,  that  no  petition  passes 
through  his  hand  but  it  brings  back  its  blessing  ; 
and  farther  assurances  than  these  should  scarcely 
be  needful  to  make  the  man  who  is  conscious  of 
sincerity  in  prayer  secure  of  an  answer.  But 
farther  assurance  is  given.  It  should  be  enough 
that  we  have  historic  evidence  that  the  Lord  has 
promised  to  answer  prayer;  but,  over  and  above, 


LK  CTTJK  E    III 


53 


we  have  historic  evidence  that,  times  almost  un- 
numbered, he  has  answered  it.  In  the  lives  ol 
Abraham  and*  Abraham's  servant,  of  Lot,  of  Ja- 
cob, of  Moses,  Joshua,  Gideon,  Manoah  and 
Samson,  of  Hannah  and  of  Samuel,  of  David  the 
king  and  Solomon  his  son,  Hezekiah  and  Manas- 
seh,  of  the  prophets  Elijah,  Elisha,  Jeremiah, 
Daniel,  and  Ezekiel ;  then,  again,  in  the  history 
of  the  apostles  and  the  early  Church,*  we  havft 
abundant  evidence  that,  whatever  may  have  be 
come  of  our  own,  others  have  directed  prevailing 
supplications  to  the  Heavenly  Majesty,  and  that 
singular  mercies  have  been,  from  time  to  time, 
bestowed  in  answer  to  believing  prayer. 

And  here  you  would  not  wonder  though  we 
should  close  the  case.  Having  God's  promise 
and  the  Saviour's  assurance  of  the  prevalency  of 
prayer,  and  having,  both  in  the  sacred  narrative 
and  later  histories,  so  many  cases  recorded  of 
accepted  and  answered  supplications,  there  is 
enough  to  justify  the  conclusion,  that  men  ought 
always  to  pray,  and  not  to  faint.  But  there  is  an 
evidence,  to  most  minds  more  satisfactory  than 
the  most  harmonious  testimony — I  mean,  the 
evidence  of  personal  consciousness — the  proof 
they  have  from  their  own  experience.  There 
have  been  persons  who  possessed  this  proof ;  and 
I  believe  almost  every  Christian  could  make,  at 
some  stage  of  his  progress,  the  same  entry  in  his 
journal  as  John  Newton, t  when  he  wrote  :— 

•  See  Finch er's  "  Achievements  nf  Prayer," — a  de- 
lilEfhtful  work  containing  in  the  words  of  Scripture  the 
different  prayers  with  their  answers  as  recorded  there 

t  Quoted  in  M'Gill  on  •*  Closet  Prayer." 

5# 


St 


LBCTUIE    III. 


'*  About  this  time  I  began  to  know  that  there  is  a 
God  who  hears  and  answers  prayer."  We  be- 
lieve that,  to  most  real  Christians  here  present, 
the  whole  discussion  of  this  morning  will  be  su- 
perfluous, and,  so  far  as  they  are  personally  con- 
cerned, uninteresting;  for  their  short  argument 
in  favour  of  the  practice,  and  conclusive  answer 
to  all  objections,  is  the  Psalmist's  own  : — "  But 
verily  God  hath  heard  me  ;  he  hath  attended  to 
the  voice  of  my  prayer."  The  efficacy  of  prayer 
is  with  them  no  longer  a  matter  of  probability  or 
a  subject  for  reasoning.  It  is  now  a  matter  of 
fact — an  ascertained  and  positive  truth — a  truth 
not  even  of  others'  testimony,  but  a  fact  of  their 
own  consciousness.  And  so,  brethren,  if  you 
wish  to  have  your  minds  set  conclusively  at  rest 
on  the  subject,  like  the  Psalmist,  pray — pray  till, 
like  the  Psalmist,  you  can  sing — "  I  love  the 
Lord,  because  he  hath  heard  my  voice  and  my 
supplications.  Because  he  hath  inclined  his  ear 
unto  me,  therefore  will  I  call  upon  him  as  long 
as  1  live." 

And  now,  having  put  on  its  proper  footing,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  truth  that  God  is  the  hearer 
of  prayer,  the  speculalive  difficulties  with  which 
some  have  perplexed  the  subject  need  give  us  no 
pain.  If  the  truth  be  ascertained,  and  the  mind 
of  the  man  who  has  discovered  it  be  sound  and 
vigorous,  no  difficulties  will  disturb  his  faith. 
To  use  the  words  of  a  clear  thinker,* — •*  Before 
a  confessed  and  unconquerable  difficulty,  the 
mind,  if  in  a  healthy  state,  reposes  as  quietly  as 

•  Arnold*i  "  Sermons  on  Interpretttion  of  Scriptu? %* 
1?*  ^^'^' 


LECTURE     III 


55 


when  in  possession  of  a  discovered  truth — as  qui- 
etly and  contentedly  as  we  are  accustomed  to 
bear  that  law  of  our  nature  which  denies  us  the 
power  of  seeing  through  all  space,  or  of  being 
exempt  from  sickness  and  decay."  Allow  that 
some  serious  objections  could  be  started  against 
the  efficacy  of  prayer,  these  objections  do  not 
toiich  the  evidence  on  which  we  believe  that  God 
has  promised  to  hear  prayer,  nor  that  other  evi- 
dence  on  which  we  believe  that  he  has  actually 
heard  and  answered  it.  The  greatness  of  crea- 
tion and  the  littleness  of  man,  the  decrees  of  God 
and  the  immutability  of  natural  laws,  would  not 
stop  his  prayer,  nor  startle  from  his  knees  the 
man  who  could  say — "  Verily,  God  hath  heard 
me :  he  hath  attended  to  the  voice  of  my  peti- 
tion ;"  but,  superior  to  all  speculative  difficulties, 
because  secure  in  his  experimental  knowledge, 
that  wise  and  happy  man  would  still  pray  on. 
And,  to  see  the  wisdom  of  this  course,  you  have 
only  to  put  a  parallel  case.  In  the  infinite  varie- 
ty of  this  universe,  there  may  be  a  world  where 
the  processes  of  growth,  and  decay,  and  repro- 
duction, so  familiar  to  us,  are  utterly  unknown. 
Suppose  that  the  inhabitant  of  such  a  world  were 
transported  to  our  own,  and  that  he  witnessed 
the  husbandman's  operations  in  spring.  He 
might  marvel  what  he  meant.  He  might  wondei 
why  he  cast  these  grains  of  corn  into  the  ground ; 
and,  when  told  that  it  was  with  a  view  to  repro- 
duce them  a  hundred-fold,  the  mysterious  process 
might  at  once  assume  the  aspect  of  infatuation, 
and  he  might  begin  to  remonstrate  with  the  la- 
bourer on  this  crazy  waste  of  useful  corn ;  and, 


I 


56 


LECTLRE    UJ. 


if  this  visitor  from  Jupiter  or  Saturn  Were  m  acute 
a  metaphysician  as  many  in  our  own  world  are, 
he  might  adduce  many  subtile  arguments — loo 
subtj-le,  perhaps,  for  a  farmer  to  refute.     ♦'  Is  not 
this  a  mad  notion  of  yours  ?     Do  you  really  mean 
to  affirm,  that  this  particle  of  corn  will  grow  into 
a  hundred  more  ?     Nay,  do  you  pretend  to  say 
that  you  will  put  into  that  hole  this  hard  and 
husky  atom,  and  come  back  in  three  months  and 
find  it  changed  into  the  glossy  stems,  the  waving 
leaves,  and  rustling  ears,  ofthe  tall  wheat-stalk  ? 
What  resemblance,  or  what  adequacy,  is  there 
between  that  seed  and  a  sheaf  of  corn  ?     Besides, 
if  a  buried  grain  is  to  grow  up  a  hundred-fold, 
why  don't  you  bury  diamonds  and  guineas,  and 
get  them  multiplied  after  the  same  proportion  ? 
Besides,  0  simpleton  !  do  you  not  know  that  all 
these  matters  have  been  fixed  and  settled  from 
everlasting?     It   has  been  fore-ordained,  either 
that  you  are  to  have  a  crop  next  autumn,  or  that 
you  are  to  have  none.     In  the  former  case,  your 
present  pains  are  needless,  for  you  will  get  your 
hapest  without  all  this  ado.     If  the  latter,  your 
pains  are  useless,  for  nothing  will  procure  you  a 
crop  where  it  is  not  the  purpose  of  Omnipotence 
that  you  should  have  one."     Did  the  ploughman 
listen  to  all  this  remonstrance,  he  might  be  much 
perplexed  with  it.     He  might  not  be  able  to  show 
the  precise  way  in  which  seeds  exert  an  efficacy 
on  the  future  crop ;  and  he  might  not  see  at  onco 
the  reason  why  corn-grains  should  be  reproduc- 
tive, whilst  diamonds  and  guineas  are  not ;  and, 
least  of  all,  might  he  be  able  to  dispose  of  tho 
fatalist  objection.     But  he  would  deem  it  enough 


LECTURE     III. 


57 


to  refute  all  this  mystification  to  say — that  he 
had  never  known  a  harvest  without  a  seed-time, 
and  that  he  had  never  sown  sufficiently  without 
reaping  something.  And  so,  when  a  man  comes 
in  from  the  prayerless  world,  and  starts  his  objec- 
tions, a  praying  man  may  not  be  able  to  discuss 
them  one  by  one — he  may  not  even  undersiand 
them — "  But  this  I  know,  God  is  the  heare'*  ol 
prayer,  and,  verily,  he  hath  heard  myself." 
And,  like  the  farmer,  who  scatters  his  seed  heed- 
less of  all  that  has  ever  been  said  on  necessity, 
and  causation,  and  general  laws,  a  wise  believer 
will,  in  the  face  of  hypothetic  difficulties,  proceed 
on  ascertained  facts,  and,  amidst  objections  and 
cavils,  will  persist  to  pray,  and  continue  to  enjoy 
the  blessings  which  prayer  procures. 

Though  hitherto  I  have  not  touched  these 
theoretic  difficulties,  I  may  now,  in  conclusion, 
mention  three  simple  truths,  in  whose  successive 
light  every  doubt  and  difficulty  should  melt 
away.     God  is  the  hearer  of  prayer, — 

1.  Because  he  is  the  Living  God. 

2.  Because  he  is  Almighty. 

3.  And  because  he  is  the  God  of  Love. 

I.  Jehovah  is  the  Living  God.  "  The  ten- 
dency of  many  minds  is  to  regard  the  Deity  as  a 
principle  rather  than  as  a  person."*  They  look 
upon  him  as  a  power — a  presence — a  principle — 
the  most  general  of  genera'  laws — not  as  the 
great  I  Am,  the  Living  God.  No  wonder  that 
they  have  little  heart  to  pray.  If  Elijah  had 
known  no  other  deity  than  the  little  cloud,  or  the 
£ea  from  which  it  ascended,  or  the  sky  in  which 

•  Chmlmera'  «  Natural  Theology,"  vol.  ii.,  p.  315. 


m 


XjECTUKK     III* 


■  it  Hoated,  or  the  electric  action  which  condensed 
more  and  more  dark  vapour  round  it,  he  would 
icarcely  have   renewed   his   supblication   seven 
times.     But  he  addressed  himself  not  to  clouds, 
but  to  the  Living  God  of  Israel.     When  I  go  to 
my  friend*s  house  to  procure  some  favour  from 
him,  I  do  not  speak  to  his  books  or  his  furniture 
-—I  do  not  invoke  his  genius  or  guardian  spirit ; 
I  do  not  apostrophise  the  abstract  idea  of  benevo- 
lence, or  virtue,  or  friendship  ;  but  I  speak  direct 
to  himself,  a  lowly  friend,  it  may  be,  or  an  un- 
worthy suppliant— but  still  a  living  man,  I  ad- 
dress a  living  person.     Prayer  is  not  an  appeal 
to  dead  matter  or  to  general  laws.     It  is  not  a  re- 
quest to  the  rain  to  fall,  or  to  the  sun  to  sta  id 
still.     It  is  not  imploring  the  principle  of  gravita- 
tion to  relax  its  rule  on  my  behalf  and  disengage 
my  feet  from  the  earth,  or  beseechinof  the  fire  to 
forbear  and  not  burn  me.     It  is  not  to  supplicate 
such  virtues  as  ineekness  and  patience  and  forti- 
tude to  comedown  and  take  up  their  abode  in  my 
bosom.     But  when  I  pray  I  address  myself  to 
that  Living  God  who  has  the  elements  of  nature 
at  his  control,  and,  what  is  to  me,  as  an  immortal 
and  accountable  being,  far  more  important,  who 
has  at  his  disposal  infinite  resources  for  making 
his  creatures  holy.     He  is  the  Living  God  ;  and 
if,  in  asking  mercies  from  him,  1  may  not  be  as 
sanguine  as  a  friend  when  he  entreats  a  friend 
or  a  child  when  he  importunes  a  father,  I  may 
at  least  be  as  earnest  and  urgent  as  a  subject  la 
when  he  has  opportunity  to  ply  his  suit  with  his 
liTing  fovereign. 
2.  But  some  who  restrain  prayer  do  err  from 


LECTURE     III 


8^ 


not  knowing  the  power  of  God.  They  feel  as  if 
it  were  impossible  even  for  Omniscience  to  attend 
to  every  suppliant,  and  beyond  the  power  even 
of  Omnipotence  to  bestow  a  separate  boon  in  an- 
swer to  each  petition.  Or  they  feel  as  if  they 
were  only  the  more  important  requests  of  the 
more  eminent  suitors  that  are  likely  to  be  noticed 
and  conceded.  But  w^hat  is  Omnipotence  ?  Is 
it  not  the  power  of  attending  to  all  things  undis- 
tracted,  as  well  as  of  doing  the  mightiest  things 
unexhausted  ?  The  Almighty— is  he  not  able  to 
attend  to  all  the  wants  of  all  his  creatures  ?  Is 
there  in  creation  aught  that  would  lead  us  to  sup- 
pose that  to  his  comprehensive  eye  any  grandeur 
is  imposing,  or  any  minuteness  despicable  ?  Did 
he  only  create  the  suns  and  larger  planets,  and 
leave  it  to  moons  and  litde  worlds  to  create  them- 
selves ?  Or,  coming  down  to  this  lower  world, 
did  he  bestow  a  higher  finish  on  the  bulkier  ex- 
istences, and  show  little  care  for  the  lesser  and 
lower  ?  Was  he  rejoicing  in  the  greatness  of  his 
strength  when  he  formed  the  oak  and  the  lion, 
and  had  his  arm  grown  weary  w^hen  it  reached 
the  lily  and  the  nightingale  ?  Though  there 
were  no  Bible  to  proclaim  it,  there  is  evidence 
enough — whether  we  look  up  into  the  heavens 
withtheir  circling  worlds,  or  down  mto  a  drop  of 
water  with  its  myriad  of  gay  darting  monads- 
proof  enough  that  He  who  made  the  whole  ol 
such  a  universe  is  able  to  attend  to  it  all.  There 
is  proof  enough  that  no  multitude  of  suppliants 
can  distract  him  and  no  magnitude  of  their  re- 
quests exhaust  Him.  There  is  proof  enough  that 
if  any  prayer  be  unanswered,  it  is  not  because 


60 


LlCTURl    III. 


the  offerer  was  too  little,  nor  because  he  asked 
too  much. 

3.  And  others  err,  foigetting  God's  ijoodness. 
True,  Jehovah  may  be  the  Living  God,  and  a 
God  of  boundless  power ;  but  what  if  he  be  a 
kard  master  or  an  angry  king  ?     What  if  we  our- 
selves have  put  him  in  an  attitude  of  estrange- 
ment, and  the  same  breath  which  addresses  him 
in  the  language  of  entreaty,  what  if  it  has  previ- 
ously assailed  the  High  and  Holy  One  in  tones 
of  hostility  ?     Here  does  come  in  a  difficulty  on 
which  conjecture  could  only  throw  a  more  per- 
plexing light.     The  hearer  of  prayer,  is  he  not 
also  the  hater  of  sin  ?     And  coming  into  his  pre- 
sence, instead  of  procuring  blessings,  may  I  not 
be  provoking  a  more  swift  displeasure  ?     Sere  is 
indeed  a  difficulty— the  gloomier  alternative  of 
which  our  own  guilty  consciences  too  severely 
favour,  and  from  which  we  should  have  found  no 
sure  escape,  had  not  the  heavenly  High  Priest, 
reposing  in  the  Father's  love,  and  holdmg  out  to 
his  guiltv  brethren  his  hand  of  mediation,  said, 
**  After  this  manner  pray  ye,  *  Our  Father,  which 
art  in  heaven.* " 

Nothing  shows  so  strikingly  that  God  is  wil- 
ling  to  hear  and  answer  prayer  as  the  provision 
he  has  made  for  its  acceptable  and  effectual  pre- 
sentation. However  worthless  the  suppliant,  he 
may  present  his  petition  in  the  name  of  God's  be- 
loved Son  ;  and  however  dim  his  idea^  aaJ  pow- 
erless his  expressions,  he  may  obiam  as  the  msti- 
gator  of  his  desires  and  the  guide  of  his  devotioiv 
none  other  than  the  Spirit  of  God. 


L  K  C  T  ir  R  F     III 


61 


II.  Where  prayer  is  offered  in  Jesus'  name,  he 
maketh  intercession  with  the  Father. 

Jesus  sits  on  the  Father's  right  hand,  and  there 
he  intercedes  for  his  people.  This  is  just  the 
sequel  and  continuation  of  Redemption.  Just  as 
God's  Providence  is  the  preserving  of  his  crea- 
tion  once  he  has  formed  it,  so  Christ's  interces 
sion  is  the  preserving  of  his  Church  now  that  he 
has  bought  it.  The  Mediator's  presence  withid 
the  veil  secures  the  perseverance  of  his  people 
till  they  too  be  within  it.  For  Christ  maketh 
intercession  for  us.  He  sees  some  Peter  at  this 
moment  about  to  be  sifted  as  wheat,  and  he  prays 
that  his  faith  fail  not.  He  sees  a  child  of  light 
walking  in  darkness,  or  some  forlorn  disciple  like 
to  faint  by  the  way,  and  he  prays  the  Father, 
and  he  sends  the  Comforter.  He  sees  a  band  of 
sore-tempted  disciples.  He  espies  a  Lot  in  Sodom, 
or  a  Daniel  in  the  den — a  Joseph  in  Egypt,  or  a 
saint  in  Sardis,  and  he  says,  "  Holy  Father,  keep 
through  thine  own  name  those  whom  thou  hast 
given  me.  Keep  them  from  the  evil."  He  sees 
a  believer  waxing  formal  and  cold,  restraining 
prayer  and  disrelishing  the  word ;  and  he  says, 
"  Sanctify  them  through  thy  truth ;  and  then  the 
sickness  comes  which  drives  him  back  to  the  throne 
of  grace,  or  the  sorrow  which  sends  him  to  the 
word  again ;  and  finding  out  a  multitude  of  un- 
detected sins  and  lacking  graces,  the  believer  is 
sanctified  anew.  And  oh !  he  rises  eagerly  from 
his  royal  seat;  for  yonder  is  a  believer  dying; 
he  "  stands  "=^  up  at  the  right  hand  of  God,  for  a 
Stephen  is  about  to  fall  on  sleep,  and  the  Inter- 


6 


•  Acts  vii.  56. 


(|  wfff  ^ 


L  E  CTU  E  E     111, 


ressor  cries,  "  Father,  I  will  that  tl/ey  also  whom 
ihou  hast  given  me,  be  with  me  where  I  am,  that 
Ihey  may  behold  my  glory."  The  Father  wills, 
and  the  Lord  Jesus  receives  that  spirit. 

But  although,  so  to  speak,  on  the  part  ol  God, 
"all  things  are  ready;"  though  he  sits  on  his 
throne  of  grace,  and  though  the  Mediator  waits 
with  his  golden  censer  to  receive  and  then  to 
offer  up  the  prayers  of  sinners  here  on  earth — ^all 
things  are  not  ready  on  the  part  of  the  sinner. 
Diffidence  God  ward,  dimness  of  perception,  cold- 
ness of  desire,  perversity  of  will,  and  distraction 
of  spirit,  are  all  so  many  "infirmities"  undei 
which  each  petitioner  labours ;  and  it  is  for  the 
"help  of  these  "infirmities"  that  the  God  of 
grace  has  provided  not  only  an  Advocate  abovt 
but  a  prompter  within. 

III.  The  Holy  Spirit  guides  the  thoughts  and 
msligales  the  desires — he  helps  the  infirmities  of 
believers  ivhen  they  pray. 

I.  Guilt  on  the  conscience  is  one  great  hin- 
derance  to  prayer.  When  sin  is  recent — when, 
like  Adam  skulking  among  the  trees,  the  bitter- 
sweet of  the  forbidden  fruit  is  still  present  to  his 
taste,  and  his  newly-opened  eyes  are  aghast  at 
his  own  deformity — it  is  not  natural  for  the  self- 
condemned  transgressor  to  draw  near  to  God. 
And  it  is  not  till  the  Spirit  of  God  directs  his 
view  to  the  unnoticed  sacrifice,  and  encourages 
him  to  put  on  the  robe  of  God's  providing,  that 
the  abashed  and  trembling  criminal  can  venture 
back  into  God's  presence.  And  it  is  not  till  the 
Spirit  of  God  comes  forth  into  hif  soul,  and 
begins  to  cry  "  Abba"  there,  that  the  soul  goes 


Ll 

m 
1 

i 


LECTURE    III.  03 

forth  with  alacrity  to  meet  a  reconciled  God.  To 
leveal  the  great  High  Priest,  the  daysman  betwixt 
Infinite  Holiness  and  human  vileness — to  open 
heaven  and  display  Jesus  standing  at  the  right 
hand  of  God— to  impart  confidence  in  the  finished 
work,  and  so,  amidst  abounding  guilt,  to  give 
hope  to  prayer— is  His  work  who,  when  he  is 
come,  convinces  not  only  of  sin,  but  of  righteous- 
ness.* 

2.  Another  great  hinderance  to  prayer  is  dim- 
ness of  spiritual  perception.  When  a  man  of 
taste  or  science  climbs  a  mountain  in  a  bright, 
transparent  day,  he  rejoices  in  its  goodly  pros* 
pect  or  curious  spoils;  but  his  dog  feels  no  inte- 
rest in  them.  He  sees  the  philosopher  peering 
through  his  telescope,  or  exploring  for  the  little 
plants  that  grow  near  the  summit,  or  splintering 
the  rocks  and  putting  fragments  in  the  bag ;  but 
it  never  occurs  to  the  spaniel  so  much  as  to  mar- 
vel what  his  master  is  finding  there.  He  sits 
yawning  and  panting  on  a  sunny  knoll,  or  snaps 
at  th«  mountain-bee  as  it  comeT  sailing  past  him, 
or  chases  the  conies  back  into  their  holes,  and 
scampers  down,  with  noisy  glee,  as  soon  as  the 
sad  durance  is  over.  The  disparity  between  the 
philosopher  and  his  irrational  friend  is  hardly 
greater  than  it  is  between  the  believer  and  the 
worldling  when  you  bring  them  together  into  the 
domain  of  faith.  "  The  natural  man  perceiveth 
not  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of  God,"  and  on  the 
Pisgah  of  the  same  revelation  whence  the  be- 
liever descries  a  goodly  land,  and  where  he  is 
making  the  most  interesting  discoveries,  the  othei 

•  John  xvi  8. 


L  E  'I  T  U  R  E     HI. 


nothing  to  arrest  Ins  attention.  The  word 
of  God  and  its  promises — the  throne  of  gmce  and 
its  privileg:es--the  things  of  faith  in  all  their  va- 
rieties— have  no  existence  to  worldly  men.  And 
when  constrained  to  bear  others  company  in  out- 
ward ordinances,  they  are  thankful  when  the 
ended  prayer  or  the  closing  sanctuary  sends  them 
back  to  the  world  again.  But  just  as  the  same 
lover  of  nature  mighl  ascend  his  favourite  emi- 
nence on  a  future  day,  and  find  all  his  goodly 
prospects  intercepted  by  a  baffling  mist,  so  dense 
that,  except  a  pebble  here  and  there,  he  can 
alight  on  none  of  its  rare  productions,  and  with- 
out any  opening  vista  by  which  he  can  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  fair  regions  around :  so  the  be- 
liever may  ascend  the  hill  of  God — he  may  open 
his  Bible  or  enter  his  closet — and  find,  alas  !  that 
it  is  a  foggy  day,  the  beauteous  panorama  blotted 
out  and  himself  left  to  grope  chiilily  in  the  cold 
and  perplexing  gloom.  But,  like  a  gale  of  sum- 
mer wind  upspringing  and  lifting  all  the  fog  from 
the  mountain-top,  the  breath  of  the  Omnipotent 
Spirit  can  scatter  every  cloud  and  leave  the  soul 
on  a  pinnacle  of  widest  survey,  rejoicing  in  the 
purest  light  of  God. 

3.  A  third  infirmity  of  the  saints,  and  a  great 
hinderance  to  prayer,  is  the  feebleness  of  affection 
Godward.  Human  affection  is  an  intermitting 
spring.  Even  though  the  covert  streams  which 
feed  it  should  be  always  flowing,  it  is  only  now 
and  then,  when  the  fountain  is  filled  up  to  the 
brim,  that  there  is  a  momentary  overflow.  There 
may  be  a  very  deep  attachment  between  the 
members  of  a  family ;  and  yet  it  is  only  on  somo 


LECTURE     III 


50 


casiial  occasion — the  day  of  their  re-union  aftei 
long  separation,  or  the  eve  of  parting,  or  one  of 
those  propitious  seasons  when  people  realize  how 
happy  is  their  lot — that  the  fountain  overflows 
and  they  give  utterance  to  their  irrepressible  emo- 
tions. But  owing  to  this  deficiency  of  ardour — 
this  infrequency  of  their  fits  of  fervent  affection 
-—it  comes  to  pass  that  the  members  of  a  harmo- 
nious family  will  be  much  together,  and  yet  not 
take  full  advantage  of  their  opportunities  of  mu- 
tual fntercourse,  nor  grow  remarkably  in  mutual 
acquaintance  or  mutual  endearment.  This  in- 
firmity of  human  affection  extends  into  the  realm 
of  faith.  There  is  a  real  affection  on  the  part  of 
the  believer  toward  his  Father  in  heaven  ;  but  it 
is  often  latent — often  languid — ^not  always  well- 
ing up  and  flowing  over — and  it  often  requires 
some  special  incident  of  mercy  or  of  judgment  to 
swell  it  up  to  that  point  which  makes  himself 
conscious  of  its  presence.  Just  as  separations, 
threatened  or  actual,  bring  out  the  love  of  friends 
to  one  another,  so  a  decree,  like  that  of  Darius 
interdicting  prayer,  or  a  flight,  like  that  of  David 
from  the  house  of  God  to  the  land  of  Jordan, 
brings  out  the  believer's  love  to  his  Heavenly 
Father — reveals  it  to  himself.  And  just  as  sud- 
den acts  of  kindness  surprise  former  friends  into 
a  fonder  and  more  outspoken  affection,  so  the 
unlooked-for  arrival  of  some  astounding  mercy 
will  startle  the  believer  into  such  thankfulness  or 
self-abasement  as  will  transport  him  mstantly  to 
the  throne  of  grace.  But,  even  apart  from  any 
present  visitation  of  judgment  or  mercy,  there  are 
influences  which  will,  from  time  to  time,  sur- 
6* 


LBCTTTEE    III. 


charge  the  believing  soul  with  gratitude,  or  ado- 
ration, or  earnestness  after  God  ;  and,  just  as  in 
life's  daily  tenor  there  are  auspicious  momenta 
when  memory  or  an  open  eve  discloses,  in  all 
the  zest  of  novelty,  the  excellence  of  a  familiar 
friend,  so  there  are  genial  hours  in  the  believer's 
history  when  the  Spirit,  the  Enlightener  and 
Remembrancer,  brings  to  view  such  attractions 
in  that  all-sufficient  Friend  whom  we  so  readily 
forget,  that  the  enraptured  soul  looks  on  and 
wonders,  and  desires  no  greater  blessedness. 
Reverting  to  our  original  emblem  :  as  the  inter- 
mitting fountain  takes  a  long  interval  to  fill  it  in 
a  dry  and  sultry  season,  but  fills  the  faster  and 
overflows  the  oftener  as  the  mountain  is  bathed 
in  abundant  dews,  and  may  at  last,  amidst  the 
plenteous  rain,  become  a  constant  stream  ;  so,  as 
the  believer's  heart  is  filled  with  more  rapid  love 
and  joy  by  the  Spirit's  plentiful  downpouring,  the 
rare  and  intermitting  spring  of  supplication  flows 
more  frequently,  till,  anon,  it  becomes — not  a 
daily — but  a  constant  emanation,  and  that  fuU- 
souled  and  heaven-replenished  saint  has  learned 
to  "  pray  without  ceasing.'* 

4.  Another  infirmity  of  the  saints  is  a  disposi- 
tion to  ask  wrong  things.  We  know  not  what 
to  pray  for  as  we  ought.  The  blessings  for 
which  it  is  most  natural  to  pray,  are  those  which 
we  least  need — temporal  mercies.  There  are 
aften  an  urgency  and  importunity  for  theso 
strangely  disproportionate  to  the  earnestness  witn 
which  we  beg  the  better  gifts.  Sometimes  the 
believer  prays  the  Lord  that  the  thorn  in  the  flesh 
may  depart  from  him,  far  more  eagerly  than  h« 


LBCTirSB    III. 


67 


asks  that  sufficient  grace  which  will  make  the 
thorn  no  longer  painful,  or  even  will  enable  him 
to  giory  in  infirmity.  Again,  amongst  spiritual 
mercies,  believers  do  not  alvvrays  covet  most 
earnestly  the  best  gifts,  or  the  gifts  which  in  their 
circumstances  would  be  best  for  them.  It  was 
good  for  Peter  and  James  and  John  to  be  on  the 
holy  mount,  and  they  prayed  to  tarry  there.  But 
it  was  good  for  the  world,  and  eventually  good 
for  themselves,  that  they  were  obliged  to  come 
down.  It  is  natural  for  believers  to  covet  rapture 
and  elevation  more  intensely  than  hard  labour 
and  hazardous  testimonies  for  Jesus,  and  a  toil- 
some pilgrimage  through  a  hostile  world — but  for 
both  themselves  and  that  world,  it  is  better  that 
they  should  go  down  to  active  service — remem- 
bering, however,  what  they  heard  and  saw  when 
they  were  with  Jesus  on  the  mount. 

But  the  Holy  Spirit  knows  the  actual  state  of 
each.  He  knows  what  spiritual  blessings  the 
suppliant  really  needs,  and  what  temporal  mer- 
cies it  would  be  no  eventual  blessing  for  him  to 
attain.  If  it  be  a  dangerous  temporal  good,  he 
can  wean  the  soul  from  the  vehement  desire  of 
it;  or  by  exhibiting  some  surpassing  heavenly 
good  can  awaken  such  longings  after  that  as  will 
make  the  other  be  forgotten ;  or  by  simply  reconcil- 
ing the  soul  to  the  adorable  will  of  God,  can  make 
it  content  to  merge  its  own  instinctive  longings 
in  his  majestic  sovereignty.  Then  again  he  can 
80  reveal  to  the  soul  its  actual  necessities,  that 
praying  time  Will  not  be  expended  in  imploring 
undesired  mercies,  or  confessing  unfelt  deficiency. 
He  knows  the  things  which  accord  with  the  wiD 


66 


IiBCTURE    III. 


of  God,  and  leaches  the  petitioner  to  ask  those 
Dlessmgs  in  asking  which  he  can  plead  God'i 
precept  or  God's  promise. 

5.  A  fifth  infirmity  of  the  saints  is  that,  even 
when  asking  right  things,  they  do  not  ask  in  a 
manner  agreeable  to  the  will  of  God.     Some  are 
haunted   bv  worldly  and    frivolous  thoughts  in 
prayer,  and  feel  as  if  their  minds  were  never  so 
silly  and  trifling,  so  cloddish  and  carnal,  as  when 
they  attempt  to  pray.     It  would  seem  as  if  all 
the  vanities  of  the  week  came  crowding  into  their 
minds — as  if  on  signal  given — the  moment  they 
went  upon  their  knees — and  petitions  for  the 
most  stupendous  blessings  will  be   ascending, 
without  force  or  meaning,  through  a  swarm  of 
idle  fancies  and  vagrant  thoughts.     Or  perhaps, 
amidst  greater  composure  of  spirit,  there  may  be 
little  or  no  longing  after  the  blessing  asked.    The 
suppliant  begs  it,  not  so  much  because  he  appre- 
ciates or  desires  it,  as  because  he  thinks  it  dutiful 
to  make  mention  of  it,  and  after  a  formal  enume- 
ration of  unsought   mercies,  he  goes   his  way 
without   having  actually  lodged  one  prevailing 
request— one  effectual  fervent  prayer  before  the 
throne  of  grace.     Or  perhaps  amidst  considera- 
ble earnestness  and  urgency,  the  believer  is  em- 
barrassed and  distressed  by  the  unsuitableness  of 
his  thoughts— his  mean  conceptions  of  those  un- 
epeakable  benefits  for  which  he  is  entreating,  and 
his  unworthy  thoughts  of  that  God  with  whom 
tie  has  to  do.     Now,  for  all  these  distractions  in 
sacred  duties,  the  remedy  lies  with  the  Spirit 
himself.     We  can  shut  'o  the  door ;  but  he  can 
ihut  the  heart,  and  lock  out  ilie  world  and  al  iti 


LECTURE     III. 


69 


phantoms.  We  can  open  the  Bible  and  look  at 
the  promises ;  but  he  can  open  heaven  and  shoiw 
each  promise  in  its  glorious  fulfilment.  We  can 
lift  our  eyes  towards  the  hills ;  but  he  can  show 
us  "  Him  who  is  invisible,"  and  can  enable  our 
souls  to  rest  on  him  with  the  sweetest  security 
for  the  fulfilment  of  all  that  he  has  spoken.  We 
can  task  ourselves  to  stated  times  of  devotion  aiid 
resolve  that  we  shall  spend  a  given  space  in 
prayer  ;  but  he  can  so  enlarge  the  heart — he  can 
make  the  spirit  so  strong  in  the  Lord  and  in  the 
power  of  his  might — he  can  fill  the  mind  with 
such  longings  after  angelic  purity— such  delight 
in  heavenly  things — such  vehement  aspirations 
after  God  ;  he  can  intercede  within  us  with  those 
yearnings  and  groanings  which  cannot  be  uttered, 
60  that  hours  and  minutes  shall  not  be  counted, 
and  the  untiring  soul  continues  "instant 
prayer." 


in 


LECTURE  IT. 


THE   PRIVILEGE   OF   PRAYBl. 


••Rajoicf  «fermore.     Pray  without  ceasing* 
1  Thess.  v.  16,  17. 

"  The  Athenians  spent  their  time  in  nothing 
else,  but  either  to  tell  or  to  hear  some  new  thing;" 
and  whatever  may  have  become  of  the  Attic  ele- 
gance and  the  Attic  genius,  modem  society  is  not 
deficient  in  the  Athenian  curiosity.  Nor  do  we 
blame  it.  The  desire  of  novelty  is  not  in  itself 
blameworthy;  but  there  is  one  form  of  it  which 
we  would  like  to  see  more  frequent.  To  freshen 
old  truths  is  nearly  as  important  as  to  discover 
new  ones ;  and  instead  of  telling  or  hearing  some 
new  thing,  our  time  would  often  be  as  advanat 
geously  occupied  in  thinking  over,  and  bright- 
enmg  up  the  meaning  of  some  old  thing. 

Few  expressions  in  theology  are  older  than 
that  which  speaks  of  the  "  privilege  of  prayer ;" 
but  nothing  could  be  a  greater  novelty  in  the 
history  of  some  who  now  hear  me,  than  to  find 
prayer  an  actual  privilege.  Am  I  wrong?  *«The 
privilege  of  prayer ! "  Do  not  some  feel  that  the 
kurd^n  of  prayer,— the  obligatim,  the  rf«/y, 
would  be  a  truer  name  for  it  ?  Do  not  some  of 
fou  feel,  that  to  call  it  a  privilege  is  just  to  givo 


LECTURE    IV 


71 


a  pleasant  name  to  an  irksome  thing  ?  If  so, 
instead  of  initiating  you  in  a  new  science,  that 
individual  would  do  you  a  better  service  who 
should  give  you  fresh  light  on  this  old  truth,  and 
make  you  feel,  that  not  only  has  prayer  power 
with  God,  but  it  is  very  nearly  the  highest  privi. 
lege  of  man. 

Let  us  make  a  supposition.*  Suppose  that 
the  individual  in  this  kingdom,  who  combines  in 
himself,  the  greatest  wisdom  and  goodness,  were 
accessible  to  you.  Suppose  that  when  anything 
pressed  upon  you, — a  difficulty  from  which  your 
own  sagacity  could  not  extricate  you,  or  an  un- 
dertaking which  your  own  resources  could  not 
compass, — ^you  had  only  to  send  him  a  statement 
of  the  case,  and  were  sure,  in  good  time,  to  get 
his  best  and  kindest  counsel, — would  not  you 
deem  this  a  great  privilege  7  Would  not  some- 
thing  of  this  sort  just  meet  the  case  of  many 
here  ?  One  is  entering  on  a  new  course  of  occu- 
pation, and  in  its  very  outset  meets  with  problems 
that  fairly  baffle  him,  but  which  a  friend  of  a 
little  more  experience  or  perspicacity  could  in- 
stantly solve.  Another  is  overtaken  by  a  sea  of 
troubles, — a  concourse  of  trials  which  quite  over- 
whelm him,  but  through  which  he  perfectly 
believes  that  a  stronger  arm  or  a  more  buoyant 
spirit  could  carry  him.  But  where  shall  he  look^ 
for  that  wiser  friend, — that  stfonger  arm  ?  Sup- 
pose, again,  that  when  in  sudden  danger  or  in 
deep  distress,  there  were  some  way  by  which 

•  This  was  suggested  by  a  similar  idea  in  a  LectOM 
•f  John  Foster,  as  preserved  in  the  MS.  notes  oi  la 
intelligent  hearer 


12 


LBCTUKE    IV. 


you  could  make  known  your  situation,  to  a  spirit 
departed.     That  spirit  is  now  far  wiser  than  he 
was  when  on  earth.  He  has  sources  of  knowledge 
that  are  not  open  to  you,  and  he  has  powers  not 
yet  possessed  by  you.     Suppose  that  in  grief  or 
in  difficulty  you  could  invoke  him.     Suppose 
that  there  were  some  process  by  which  you  could 
arrest  his  ear  among  the  glorified,  and  in  the  lapse 
of  a  brief  moment  bring  him  though  unseen  to 
yoar  side  ;  and  suppose  that,  to  this  spirit  made 
perfect,  the  spirit  of  your  departed  parent,  or  of 
lome  one  remarkable  for  his  wisdom  and  sanctity, 
you  could  detail  the  whole  matter  that  grieves 
and  perplexes  you,  and  though  there  should  be 
00  response  from  the  viewless  shade,  you  knew 
that  he  had  heard  you,  and  was  away  to  inter. 
pose  effectively  on  your  behalf, — would  you  not 
feel  much  comforted  and  lightened  ?  Would  you 
not  resume  your  own  active  exertions  with  far 
greater  hopefulness, — assured  that  there  would 
now  attend  them  a  power  beyond  what  was  proper 
to  them,  or  inherent  in  yourself?     But  farther, 
Buppse  that  instead  of  any  wise  or  influential 
personage  on  earth,  or  any  glorified  spirit  in 
paradise,  it  was  possible  for  you  to  secure  the  ear 
and  engage  the  help  of  one  of  the  principalities 
or  powers  in  the  heavenly  places  ;  some  being 
of  such  bright  intelligence,  that  he  can  smile  at 
all  our  wi^om,  ^d  such  commanding  might, 
that  he  can  do  in  a  moment  what  woull  occupy 
our  race  for  a  millennium  ;  could  you  for  an  in- 
•tant  bespeak  his  attention,  and  gain  assurance 
of  his  willingness  to  help  ;  would  you  not  feel 
that  your  object  wai  unspeakably  promoted,  or 


LECTURE    IV. 


73 


your  burden  amazingly  lightened  ?  To  have 
enlisted  such  ability  and  skill  upon  your  side,— 
the  few  minutes  spent  in  securing  such  superhu- 
man help, — would  you  not  feel  that  they  were  a 
larger  contribution  towards  eventual  success  than 
a  life-time  of  your  personal  efforts?  But  rise  a 
step  higher — an  infinite  step! — and  suppose  that 
it  were  possible  to  arrest  the  ear  and  secure  the 
help  of  God  himself;  suppose  that  you  could,  by 
any  possibility,  gain  the  attention*  of  the  living 
God, — that  you  could  secure  not  the  cold  and 
distant  on -looking,  but  the  interested  regard  and 
the  omnipotent  interposition  of  Jehovah  himself, 
— would  not  this  be  a  privilege?  But  this  is 
precisely  wliat  prayer  is.  Some  have  no  friend 
of  extraordinary  sagacity  or  power  to  go  to.  The 
spirits  of  the  departed  cannot  come  to  us ;  and 
neither  to  them  nor  to  angels  are  we  warranted 
to  pray.  And  even  though  we  could  evoke  a 
Samuel  from  the  sepulchre,  or  bring  down  Gabriel 
from  above  the  sky, — the  blessings  which  are 
most  needful  for  us  are  such  as  neither  Samuel 
nor  Gabriel  can  give, — ^blessings  of  which  the 
treasure  lies  within  the  light  inaccessible,  and  of 
which  Omnipotence  alone  preserves  ilie  key. 
That  Almighty  hand  prayer  moves.  That  in- 
communicable key  prayer  turns.  That  unap- 
proachable treasury  prayer  opens.  The  1  lessingi 
which  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  and  Abraliam  in 
the  bosom  of  his  God,  and  the  seraphs  who  over- 
shadow the  throne, — the  blessings  which  these 
have  not  to  give,  it  is  the  privilege  of  prr;yer  to 
procure. 

But  set  it  in  another  light.     Imagine  that  there 

7 


74 


LECTUEE    IV. 


had  been  certain  limitations  on  prayer.  Imagine 
that  there  had  only  been  one  spot  on  the  earth 
fiom  which  prayer  could  arise  with  acceptance. 
Imagine — by  no'  means  inconceivable,  for  there 
was  once  something:  very  like  it— imao^ine  that 
the  Lord  had  selected  some  little  spot  of  earth— 
a  Mount  Zion  or  a  Holy  Land — and  said  that 
here,  and  here  only,  was  the  place  to  worship. 
Imagine  that  from  this  hallowed  spot  alone  there 
had  existed  a  J)assage  mto  heaven  for  the  prayers 
of  earth,  and  that  all  supplications,  however  ear- 
nest, uttered  on  the  profane  soil  of  the  common 
globe,  had  gone  for  nothing.  What  a  resorting 
we  should  have  seen  to  this  place  of  only  preva- 
lency  I  When  there  occurred  some  conjuncture 
decisive  of  weal  or  woe  to  an  individual  or  a 
family,  or  when  a  man  became  so  anxious  about 
his  soul's  salvation  that  nothing  could  content 
him  save  li":ht  from  above,  we  should  have  seen 
the  busy  trader  arranging  for  his  p«,tracted  ab 
sence,  and  the  cautious,  untravelled  husbandman 
preparinff  for  the  perilous  pilffrimaf^e,  and  multi- 
(udes,  on  their  own  behalf  or  on  behalf  of  others, 
resorting  to  the  place  where  prayer  is  heard  and 
answered.  And  imagine,  farther,  that  there  had 
just  been  one  day  in  the  year  when  prayer  was 
permitted  ;  that  those  who' arrived  at  the  appoint- 
ed place  too  late,  found  the  gale  of  access  closed 
for  the  next  twelve  months,  and,  however  sudden 
the  emergency,  and  however  extreme  its  exigency, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  do  anything  for  it  till  the 
weary  year  moved  round,  and^rought  back  the 
one  propitious  day  I— even  thus  restricted,  would 
not  prayer  have  been  feh  to  be  a  privilege  worth 


LECTURE     IV. 


7S 


a  pilgrimage  and  worth  a  long  on-waiting  ?    Just 
fancy  that  in  our  earth's  yearly  revolution  round 
the  sun  there  was  disclosed  a  crevice  in  the  sky! 
--that  on  one  night  in  the  year,  and  on  one  moun- 
tain  top,  there  was  a  vista  opened   through  the 
encircling  vault,  and  a  sight  of  dazzlinir  glories 
revealed  to  all  who  gazed  from  the  favou^red  sum- 
mit;—and  fancy  that  through  the  brilliant  gap 
there  fell  a  shower  of  gold  and  gems,  and   that 
this  recurred  regularly  on  the  self-same  evening 
every  year,  what  a  concourse  to  that  Pisgah  mighi 
you  count  upon  I     How  many  eager  eyes  would 
strain  the  breathless  hour  beforehand  till  the  first 
streak  of  radiance  betokened  the  bursting  glory ! 
And  how  many  emulous  hand's  would  rush  to- 
gether to  catch  the  flaming  rubies  and  the  dia- 
mond-rain ! 

And  just  conceive— the  only  other  supposition 
we  shall  make — that  certain  costly  or  arduous 
preliminaries  were  essential  in  order  to  success- 
ful prayer;  suppose  that  a  day's  strict  abstinence, 
or  some  painful  self-punishment,  were  exacted; 
or  that  each  worshipper  were  required  to  bring 
m  his  hand  some  costly  ofTering— the  choicest  of 
his  flock,  or  a  large  per  centage  on  his  income— 
And  who  would  say  that  this  was  unreasonable? 
Would  not  access  into  God's  own  presence— a 
favour  so  inefTable- would  it  not  be  wisely  pur- 
chased at  any  price,  and  might  not  sinful  "  dust 
and  ashes"  marvel  that  after  any  ordeal  or  puri- 
fying process  it  was  admitted  near  such  Ma- 
|esty  ? 

But  how  stands  the  case  ?     Prayer  is  not  a 
consultation  with  the  highest  wisdom  which  thi» 


'.0. 


76 


LECTURE    IV. 


world  can  supply.     It  is  not  intercourse  with  a« 
nngel  or  a  spirit  made  perfect.     But  it  is  an  ap- 

f roach  to  the  living  God.  It  is  access  to  the 
[igh  and  Holy  One  who  inhabiteth  eternity.  It 
is  detailing  in  the  ear  of  Divine  sympathy  every 
sorrow.  It  is  consulting  with  Divine  wisdom  on 
every  difficiiliy.  It  is  asking  from  Divine  re- 
sources the  supply  of  every  want.  And  this  not 
once  in  a  life-time,  or  for  a  few  moments  on  a 
stated  day  of  each  year,  but  at  any  moment,  at 
every  time  of  need.  Whatever  be  the  day  of 
your  distress,  it  is  a  day  when  prayer  is  allowa- 
ble. Whatever  be  the  time  of  your  calamity,  it 
is  a  time  when  prayer  is  available.  However 
early  in  the  morning  you  seek  the  gate  of  access, 
you  find  it  already  open  ;  and  however  deep  the 
midnight  moment  when  you  find  yourself  in  the 
sudden  arms  of  death,  \he  winged  prayer  can 
brmg  an  mstant  Saviour  near.  And  this  where- 
soever you  are.  It  needs  not  that  you  ascend 
some  special  Pisgah  or  Moriah.  It  needs  not 
thai  you  should  enter  some  awful  shrine,  or  put 
off  your  shoes  on  some  holy  ground.  Could  a 
memento  he  reared  on  every  spot  from  which  an 
acceptable  prayer  has  passed  away,  and  on  which 
a  prompt  answer  has  come  down,  we  should  find 
Jekovak'shammah — "  the  Lord  hath  been  here" — 
inscribed  on  many  a  cottage  hearth  and  many  * 
dungeon  floor.  We  should  find  it  not  only  in 
Jerusalem's  proud  temple  and  David's  cedar  gal- 
leries, but  in  the  fisherman's  cottage  by  the  brink 
of  Gpi^'"^«aret,  and  in  the  upper  chamber  where 
Pentt  .  began.  And  whether  it  be  the  field 
where  Isaac  went  to  meditate,  or  th«  rocky  knoll 


LECTURE     IV. 


77 


where  Jacob  lay  down  to  sleep,  or  the  brook  where 
Israel  wrestled,  or  the  den  where  Daniel  gazed 
on  the  hungry  lions  and  the  lions  gazed  on  him, 
or  the  hill-sides  where  the  Man  of  Sorrows  prayed 
all  night,  we  should  still  discern  the  prints  of  the 
ladder's  feet  let  down  from  heaven — the  landing- 
place  of  mercies  because  the  starting-point  of 
prayers.     And  all  this  whatsoever  you  are.     It 
needs  no  saint,  no  proficient  in  piety,  no  adept  in 
eloquent  language,  no  dignity  of  earthly  rank. 
It  needs  but  a  simple  Hannah,  or  a  lisping  Sam- 
uel.    It  needs  but  a  blind  beggar,  or  a  loathsome 
iazar.     It  needs  but  a  penitent  publican,   or  a 
dying  thief.     And  it  needs  no  sharp  ordeal,  no 
costly  passport,  no  painful  expiation  to  bring  you 
to  the  mercy-seat;    or  rather,  I  should  say,  it 
needs  the  costliest  of  all ;  but  the  blood  of  atone- 
ment— the  Saviour's  merit — the  name  of  Jesus — 
priceless   as  they  are,  cost  the  sinner  nothing. 
They  are  freely  put  at  his  disposal,  and  instantly 
and  constantly  he  may  use  them.     This  access  to 
God  iri  every  place,  at  every  moment,  without 
any  price  or  any  personal  merit,  is  it  not  a  privi- 


lege ^ 


And  yet  this  old  truth,  I  am  anxious,  before 
we  part,  that  you  should  find  in  it  new  signifi- 
cance ;  and  therefore,  to  make  it  somewhat  more 
specific,  let  me  apply  it  to  a  few  cases,  probably 
all  represented  here. 

1.  "Is  any  among  you  afflicted?  Let  him 
pray."  "  In  agony  nature  is  no  atheist.  The 
mind  which  knows  not  where  to  fly,  flies  to 
God."*     And  to  spring  into  the  arms  of  Omni. 

Hannah  Moie  on  Prayer,  p.  153. 


f8 


LICTITRB    IV. 


potence,  to  find  refuge  in  the  bosom  of  Mercv,  is 
to  weep  no  longer.     The  drowning  man  whose 
last  sensation  was  the  weltering  brine  ;  who  felt 
the  seething  flood  go  over  him,  and  as  he  settled 
down  among  the  trailing  weeds,  the  memory  of 
home  darted  like  a  death-shot  through  his  heart 
and  put  an  end  to  other  anguish  ;— when  that 
rescued  man  opens  his  eyes  beneath  some  friend- 
ly roof,  and  instead  of  the  watery  winding-sheet 
and  the  crawling  gulf-monsters,   finds   himself 
on  a  couch    of    warm    comfort,    his    chamber 
glowing  with  the  cheerful  faggot,  a  friendly  face 
ready  to  greet  his  first  waking,  and  see  through 
the  window  the  ship  that  is  waiting  to  bear  him 
back  to  his  native  isle,— it  may  be  true  that  he 
had  treasures  in  the  foundered  vessel,  and  that 
some  curious  or  precious  things  he  was  carrying 
home  may  never  be  fished  up  from  the  devour- 
ing deep,— but  how  different  his  lot  from  the  poor 
castaway,  whom  the  billows  have  landed  on  a 
desolate    rock,  and  who  creeping   about  in  his 
dripping  rags,  can  find  no  food  but  the  limpets, 
no  fuel  but  the  crackling  sea-weed,  no  hovel  to 
shelter  him,  and  no  sail  to  waft  him  away.     Both 
have  been  wrecked,  and  both  have  lost  their  all; 
but  in  the  joy  of  his  rescue  the  one  forgets  his 
poverty,  and  in  his  wretched  asylum  from  the 
waves  the  other  recognizes  nothing  but  a  prison 
and  a  tomb.     Precisely  similar  is  the  case  of  the 
afflicted  man  who  prays,  and  of  him  who,  when 
afllicted,  cannot  pray — the  man  whom  the  bil- 
lows land  on  the  desolate  rock  of  world liness  or 
•theism,  and  the  man  who,  from  the  stun  of 
drowning  waters,  wakes  up  in  the  pavilion  of 
God's  own  presence.     Both  mav  have  suffered 


LECTURE     IV 


79 


equal  losses.  Both  may  have  left  a  treasuie  in 
the  deep.  Both  may  have  been  washed  empty- 
handed  ashore.  But  the  man  of  prayer  is  like 
the  man  who  comes  to  himself  in  the  asylum 
of  the  friendly  home.  The  bliss  of  present 
fellowship  with  God  abates  or  banishes  the 
grief  of  recent  loss.  On  the  lee-shore,  which 
has  shattered  his  frail  bark,  he  is  astonished  to 
lift  up  his  eyes  and  find  himself  the  inmate  of  a 
beloved  friend,  and  a  familiar  dwelling.  He 
knows  that  he  will  land  safe  at  last,  and  is  happy 
even  now.  "  Is  any  among  you  afflicted?  Let 
him  pray." 

2.  Is  any  among  you  perplexed  ?  "  If  any 
of  you  lack  wisdom,  let  him  ask  of  God,  who 
giveth  to  all  men  liberally,  and  upbraideth  not ; 
and  it  shall  be  given  him." 

There  is  an  instructive  Greek  story  which 
tells  us  of  a  noble  youth  who  had  a  more  than 
mortal  guide.  The  Prince  was  frank  and  manly 
and  docile  ;  but  on  account  of  his  inexperience 
often  found  himself  in  straits  through  which  his 
own  sagacity  could  not  steer  him.  On  such  oc- 
casions, when  in  danger  of  falling  into  designing 
hands  or  committing  himself  to  disastrous  coun- 
sels, or  when  actually  involved  in  distresses  from 
which  he  could  not  extricate  himself,  this  faithful 
friend  was  sure  to  speed  to  his  rescue.  What- 
ever was  the  scene  of  anxiety  or  affright,  he  had 
only  to  bethink  himself  of  his  kind  and  sagacious 
counsellor,  and  that  moment  Mentor  was  beside 
him.  What  Homer  dreamed,  the  Gospel  veri- 
fies. It  tells  that  veiled  from  our  view  only  by 
the  curtain  of  this  corporeal,  but  nearer  to  us 
than  that  flesh  and  blood  which  hides  us  from 


mSD^^^^ 


80 


LECTURE     IV. 


oor  truest  selves,  there  is  an  ever-present  friend 
who  needs  only  to  be  remembered  in  order  to 
prove  a  present  help.     It  tells  us  that  amidst  all 
our  embarrassments  and  sorrows,  grief  is  never 
so  near  but  deliverance  is  nearer  still     And  it 
tells  us  that  all  the  confusion  and  blundering,  the 
foolish  bargains  and  infatuated  proceedings  which 
often  make  us  so  affronted  or  indignant  at  our- 
selves might  all  have  been  avoided  had  we  time- 
oSS^y  Tesorted  to  that  wonderful  Counsellor  ^o 
encompasses  all  our  ways.     In  other  words,  the 
Bible  assures  us  that,  however  much  we  may 
suffer  from  the  deficiency  of  our  talents  and  the 
darkness  of  our  understandings,  we  suffer  still 
more  from  not  taking  advantage  of  that  Wisdom 
from  above  who  can  enlighten  our  darkness  and 
elevate   all   our   powers.     No   man,    by    takinf^ 
thought,  can  add  a  faculty  to  his  mind  any  more 
than  he  can  add  a  feature  to  his  countenance  or  a 
cubit   to   his   stature.     But   the   man   who   has 
learned  to  pray,  can.  at  the  Throne  of  Grace 
procure  what  really  is  the  enhancement  of  his 
intellect,  and  the  augmentation  of  his  faculties  • 
that  Divme  wisdom  which  will  either  supersede 
or  supplement  his  own. 

His  must  be  a  very  easy  calling  who  ha? 
never  felt  the  need  of  more  skill  and  prudence- 
more  wisdom  than  is  indigenous  to  himself. 
iake  the  most  common  instances.  You  are  a 
lather  or  a  mother-perhaps  a  widowed  father  or 
a  widowed  mother.  There  are  your  children 
nsing  around  you.  Allowing  that  their  minds 
are  ever  so  susceptible  and  plastic,  how  impor- 
tant are  your  every  movement  and  entire  de- 


LECTURE     IV. 


81 


meanour  in  their  bearing  on  them  !  A  single 
inconsistency,  the  most  trivial  inadvertency,  com- 
ing with  all  the  sanction  of  a  parent's  example, 
how  influential  for  evil  is  it  sure  to  be !  How 
possible  for  a  father,  by  mere  inconsiderateness, 
to  perpetuate  his  own  worst  qualities  in  the  per 
sons  of  many  survivors ;  and,  just  because  they 
ioved  him  so  well,  and  copied  him  so  closely, 
how  possible  is  it  to  transmit  in  his  children's 
characters  the  facsimile  of  his  worser  self— the 
image  of  his  frivolity,  or  peevishness,  or  indo- 
lence. Nay,  how  possible  is  it  to  convert  a  child 
Into  the  perennial  monument  of  a  few  occasional 
follies — to  prolong,  in  its  habitual  character,  the 
sayings  and  doings  of  a  few  unguarded  mo- 
ments !  Then,  again,  there  may  be  among  these 
children  more  puzzling  problems — some  who  are 
neither  affectionate  nor  docile — who  are  not 
likely,  by  a  mere  moral  imbibition,  to  take  in  the 
good  influences  with  which  they  are  surrounded 
— problems  in  whose  management  more  than  pa- 
tience and  tenderness  is  needful — refractory,  self- 
ish, or  peculiar  natures,  on  which  nothing  but 
the  decisive  measures  of  a  deep-seeing  sagacity — 
the  bold  strokes  of  a  forceful  nature — can  make 
any  permanent  impression.  Whosoever  occupies 
u  station  of  moral  influence — a  station  where  his 
labour  lies  amongst  the  most  perilous  materials 
with  which  man  can  intermeddle — the  affections 
and  dispositions — the  wills  of  other  people,  must 
have  amazing  self-reliance,  or  a  deplorable  cal- 
lousness, if  he  is  not  frequently  crushed  down  by 
the  solemnity  o^  his  position.  It  was  by  one  in 
such  a  position  that  a  most  considerate  and  mag- 


82 


LECTURE     IV. 


nanimous  prayer  wns  ofllTed-a  prayer  uhose 
spirit  every  parent,  and  teacher,  and  pastor  should 
eniulale,  just  as  a  siniihir  answer  is  what  every 
parent,  and  teaclier,  and  jiastor  who  offers  i*  is 
encouraged  to  expect  :— "  I„  Gilx.on  the  Lord  ap- 
peared to  Solomon  in  a  dream  by  ni'^lu  :  and  God 
■Slid,  «A.lc  udiat  I  shall  give  thee:'     And   Solo- 
mon said,  '  Thou  hast  showed  unto  thy  servant 
Uavidiny  father  great  mercy,  according  as  he 
UTi  kcd  before  thee  in  iruili  and  in  righteousness, 
and  m  uiuiirhtncss  (,f  heart  with  thrr  :  and  thou 
hast  Krpi  (,,r  hnn   iliis  ^rv:a  IviiKlncss  that  thou 
ha-st  given  hini  a  son  in  sit  on  his  throne  as  it  is 
this  day      And  now,  O  Lord  my  God,  thou  hast 
made    thy   servant    king    instead   of   Daviil   ,ny 
athcr;  and  I  am  hut  a  little  child  :   I  know  not 
how  to  go  out  or  coint'  in.      And  thy  servant  is 
m  the  midst  of  thy  {icople  which  thJu  hast  cho- 
sen, a  great  people,  that  cannot  he  nimibcred  nor 
counted  for  multitude.     Give,  therefore,  thy  ser- 
vant an  understanding  heart  to  judge  thy  people, 
tfiat  1  may  discern  between  good  and  bad  :   for 
who  IS  able  to  judge  this  thy  so  great  a  people  V 
And  the  speech  pleased  tlie  Lord  that  Solomon 
had  asked  this  thing.     And  God  said  unto  him, 
Because  thou  hast  asked  this  thing,  and  hast 
no   asked  for  thyself  long  life  ;  neither  hast  asked 
nchcs  for  thyself,  nor  hast  asked  the  life  of  thine 
enermcs:  but  hast  asked  for  thyself  understand, 
ing  to  discern  judgment;    behold,  I  have  done 
according  to  thy  words  :  Jo,  I  have  given  thee  a 
wise  and  understanding  heart,  so  that  tliere  was 
none  like  thee  before  tnee,  neither  after  thee  sliall 
any  arise  like  unto  thee.     And  I  have  also  giveo 


LECTURE     IV. 


83 


thee-  that  whicli  thou  liast  not  asked,  both  riches 
Vnd  honour.'  "* 

3.    Is  any  among  you  embarked  in  an  impor- 
tant undertaking  ?     "  Commit  thy  way  unto  the 
Lord,  and  He  shall  bring  it  to  pass.     In  all  thy 
ways  acknowledge  Him,  and  He  will  direct  thy 
steps."     Some  feel  as  if  it  were  presumption  to 
implore  God's  blessing  on  their  daily  toils  and 
secular  callings.     They  feel  as  if  spiritual  mer- 
cies were  the  only  projier  themes  for  i)rayer,  and 
ns  if  it  were  a  desecration  of  Jehovah's  presence- 
chamber  to  carry  thither  matters  so  mean  as  our 
worldly   underinkings  and   every-day  concerns. 
And   assuredly  if  a^man  were  to  make  nothing 
else  than  his  worldly  w(dfarc  the  sulijecl  of  his 
supplications,    it  would   be  much  the  same  with 
him  as  with  those  sordid  spirits  who  had  no  other 
use  for  the   'IVniple  than  to  make  it  a  market- 
place,  and  sell  their  oxen  and  doves;  and  "Let 
not  that  earthly-minded  man  think  that  he  shall 
receive  anything  of  the  Lori."     I3ut  if  you  be  in 
the  habit  of  resorting  to  the  Throne  of  Grace  for 
spiritual  mercies,   to  that  Throne  you  naturally 
and   lawfully  resort  for   temporal  mercies  also. 
And,  indeed,  no  undertaking  or  employment  of  a 
Christian  can  be  altogether  secular.     The  mere 
fact  that  it  is  his  gives  it  a  certain  sacredness,  and 
identifies  it  with  the  interests  of  God's  kingdom 
on  earth.     It  is  not  a  matter  of  no  moment  whe- 
ther a  servant  wlio  makes  profession  of  religion 
shall  fulfil  the  duties  of  his  station  no  better  than 
others  who  make  no  profession.     It  is  not  a  mat- 
tor  of  no  religious  moment  whether  a  student  pro- 

*  1  Kings  iii.  0-.13 


84 


1,  E  C  T  U  R  E     IV. 


fessinfr  piety  shall  not  he  more  imlustrious  and 
successful  ihVui  one  wlio  scofl's  at  the  Bible.  And  . 
it  is  not  a  matter  of  no  consequence  whether  the 
business  transactions  and  household  arrange- 
rncnts  and  personal  exertions  of  Christian  pro- 
fessors shall  not  surpass  the  usual  style  of  the 
Avorldiy.  And  so  far  as  the  glory  of  God  and 
the  honour  of  the  Divine  Redeemer  are  impli- 
cated, it  is  incumbent  on  every  believer  to  bespeak 
from  above  that  lielp  which  will  make  him  more 
than  a  conrpicror  even  in  his  worldly  calling. 
But  more  than  this:  ihore  Is  nothing  which  can 
be  momentous  to  a  cluld  of  God  which  is  not  also 
interesting  to  his  Heavenly  Father.  A  gentle 
parent  is  not  only  ready  to  snatch  his  chihl  from 
the  fire,  but  to  relieve  him  from  lesser  miseries. 
He  is  not  only  willing  to  give  him  an  ample  edu- 
cation or  provide  for  his  distant  well-being ;  but 
if  there  be  nothing  wrong  in  it,  he  is  ready  to  in- 
dulge even  his  least  desires — ready  to  help  him 
in  his  most  trivial  pursuits.  And  so,  the  peti- 
tion, "  Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven — give  us 
this  day  our  daily  bread,"  is  to'tcach  us  that  no- 
thin"^  afFecls  the  welfare  or  comfort  of  his  feeblest 
child,  but  it  is  ready  to  receive  the  consideration 
of  his  Heavenly  Father,  and  so  is  a  fit  subject 
for  prayer.  And  just  as  the  Lord  is  ready  to 
hear  prayer  in  such  cases,  so  it  is  the  wisdom  of 
every  one  to  lighten  his  own  labour  and  secure 
his  own  success  by  timely  supplication.  Jacob's 
prayer  did  more  to  propitiate  Esau  than  Jacob's 
present.  Eliezer's  petition,  as  he  knelt  by  the 
camel's  side,  did  more  to  prosper  his  embassy 
than  his  own  and  his  master's  precautions.     And 


LECTURE     IV. 


S5 


Hezekiah's  inl'^rression  rescued  Jerusalem  when 
its  walls  were  of  lillle  use,  and  nothing  but  thn 
arm  of  Jehovah  could  lay  the  invader  low.  We 
know  not  the  pecrcl  history  of  this  world's  mighti- 
est transactions-  and  its  proudest  monuments; 
but  from  the  little  that  wc  know  we  can  aflirm 
that  the  men  who  have  prospered  best  arc  the 
men  who  have  taken  time  to  pray.  It  was  to 
prayer  tliat  Henry  IV.  of  France  ascribed  his 
crown,  and  Gustavus  owed  his  victories.  The 
father  of  the  modern  fine  arts  was  wont,  before 
he  began  any  new  composition,  to  invoke  His  in- 
spiration, who  in  other  ddys  taught  Aholiab ;  and 
the  Goliath  of  English  literature  felt  that  he 
studied  surressfully  when  he  had  [jraytMl  ear- 
nestly. And  what  i\Iicha(,'l  Angcdo  and  INlilton 
and  Johnson  found  so  hopeful  to  their  mighty  ge- 
nius cannot  hinder  us.  You  have  read  in  our  own 
history  of  that  hero  who,  when  an  overwhelming 
force  was  in  full  pursuit,  and  all  his  followers 
were  urging  him  to  more  rapid  flight,  coolly  di.s- 
mounted  in  order  to  repair  a  flaw  in  his  horse's 
harness.  Whilst  busied  with  the  broken  buckle, 
the  distant  cloud  swept  down  in  nearer  thunder ; 
but  just  as  the  prancing  hoofs  and  eager  spears 
were  ready  to  dash  down  on  him,  the  flaw  was 
mended,  the  clasp  was  fastened,  the  steed  was 
mounted,  and  like  a  swooping  falcon  he  had  van- 
ished from  their  view.  The  broken  buckle  would 
have  left  him  on  the  field  a  dismounted  and  in- 
glorious prisoner.  The  timely  delay  sent  him 
in  safety  back  to  his  huzzaing  comrades.  There 
is  in  daily  life  the  same  luckless  precipitancy, 
and  the  same  profitable  delay  The  man  who, 
8 


86 


L  E  C  T  U  K  E     IV. 


from  his  prayerless  waking,  bounces  off  into  the 
business  of  the  day,  however  good  his  talents 
and  great  his  diligence,  is  only  galloping  on  a 
steed  harnessed  with  a  broken  buckle,  and  must 
not  marvel  if  in  his  hottest  haste,  or  most  haz- 
ardous leap  he  be  left  inglorious  in  the  dust; 
and  though  it  may  occasion  some  little  delay  be 
forehand,  his  neighbour  is  wiser  who  sets  all  in 
order  before  the  march  begins. 

4,  But  covet  most  earnestly  the  best  gifts.  Is 
any  among  you  in  earnest  about  his  soul,  bu* 
distressed  by  reason  of  darkness  ?  "  If  ye  being 
evil  know  how  lo  give  good  gifts  unto  your  chil- 
dren, how  much  more  will  your  Heavenly  Father 
give  the  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  him  ?'' 
If  any  one  be  in  the  outset  of  his  religious  in- 
quiries, he  will  feel  a  special  lack.  The  subjects 
to  which  his  thoughts  are  now  turned  are  novel. 
Till  now,  he  has  not  paid  much  attention  to  them ; 
and  now,  when  they  have  become  urgent,  he 
feels  foreign  in  the  midst  of  them.  He  Takes  up 
the  Bible,  but  it  is  altogether  so  peculiar,  the 
truths  it  handles  are  so  far  out  of  the  ordinary 
way  of  his  thinking,  and  its  very  style  is  so  alien 
to  his  ordinary  mode  of  expression,  that  he  feels 
muck  as  a  person  might  be  supposed  to  feel  who 
had  somehow  been  transported  to  another  planet, 
and  not  only  saw  forms  of  existence  there  totally 
different  from  anything  which  his  fancy  had  eve'r 
conceived,  but  who  had  not  been  long  among 
them  till  he  began  to  suspect  that  he  was  not  com- 
petent to  understand  them  thoroughly.  He  has 
not  been  long  in  this  new  world  till  he  begins  to 
suspect  that  more  than  five  senses  are  needed 


H 


LECTURE     IV. 


87 


here.  He  notices  appearances  which  indicate 
that  matters  are  transpiring  which  his  ear  canno* 
detect,  and  into  w^hich  his  eye  cannot  penetrate. 
He  finds  himself  in  a  world  of  deepest  interest 
but  a  world  of  distressing  mystery.  Enough 
comes  wdlhin  his  cognizance  to  make  him  wish 
that  he  was  able  to  know  it  all ;  but  enough  to 
convince  him  that  its  most  characteristic  things 
are  those  which  he  does  not  know,  and  has  not 
the  means  for  finding  out.  Or,  to  use  a  more 
obvious  illustration  :  Most  persons,  in  the  out- 
set of  their  spiritual  enlightenment,  are  in  the 
case  of  the  blind  man  at  Bethsaida  when  his  sight 
was  half  restored.  He  looked  up  and  saw  men 
like  trees  walking.  He  saw  tliat  he  was  in  a 
world  of  light,  and  verdure,  and  vivacity  ;  but  it 
was  all  a  jumble  of  green  men,  and  walking 
trees-a  medley  of  light  and  motion.  He  had 
no  clear  perceptions — no  sharp  and  definite  ideas. 
But — another  touch  of  the  same  miraculous  fin- 
-he  looked  .igain,  and  the  men  walked  and 


8:er 


the  trees  stood  still,  the  boats  winged  their  limpid 
way  over  quivering  Galilee,  and  lo !  Bethsaida 
sleeping  in  the  summer  noon.  At  the  com- 
mencement of  a  religious  inquiry,  the  man  finds 
himself  in  a  region  of  deep  interest,  but  withal,  a 
region  of  dim  outlines  and  flickering  obscurity. 
His  notions  run  into  one  another,  and  he  has 
rather  a  confused  impression  of  the  extent  of  the 
landscape,  than  a  clear  perception  of  any  one  ob- 
ject in  it.  Like  the  man  who  confounded  walk- 
mg  people  with  growing  trees,  he  is  apt  to  con- 
found one  doctrine  with  another.  He  mistakes 
faith  for  the  Saviour.     He  blends  together  the 


88 


LECTURE     IV. 


LECTURE     IV 


89 


Gospel  and  the  Law,  and  thinks  that  there  must 
be  a  change  in  himself  before  he  is  entitled  to 
believe  in  Christ  for  salvation.  And  if,  at  this 
stage,  friendly  counsellors  come  in  with  their  dis- 
tinctions and  explanations,  they  answer  much  the 
same  purpose  as  a  neighbour  who  should  have 
endeavoured  to  expound  the  landscape  to  the  half- 
enlightened  Galilean.  After  all  his  well-meant 
efforts,  the  scene  would  still  have  showed  a  med- 
ley of  irlinnnering  colours  and  dancing  blotches, 
and  nothiii'T  but  another  touch  of  the  omnipotent 
hand  could  project  ilie  whole  into  splendid  dis- 
tinctness. And,  just  as  in  the  case  of  the  dim- 
secinjTf  Galilerui,  it  was  not  so  much  a  sunshine 
as  a  £]:host  of  \'i<y\n  which  sainted  his  eve -balls— 
so,  in  the  outset  of  a  spiritual  earnestness,  it  is 
not  the  warm  and  radiant  Gospel  which  glads  the 
exploring  vision,  but  a  cold  and  hazy  version  of 
it.  It  is  not  a  Gospel  over  which  the  love  of  God 
sheds  its  flood  of  endearment,  but  a  Gospel  in  a 
mist — a  Gospel  of  conflicting  attributes  and  am- 
biguous meaning — a  Gospel  of  dim  love  and 
doubtful  kindness.  And  it  is  not  till  a  power 
from  on  high  imparts  clearer  perceptions  and  in- 
tenser  vision  that,  like  the  joyful  scenes  which 
rushed  on  the  fully-opened  eyes  of  the  Bethsai- 
dan,  the  scheme  of  mercy  stands  out  in  assuring 
distinctness,  and  then  melts  in  upon  the  soul  in 
its  genial  beauty  and  overwhelming  glories. 

Now,  my  friends,  if  any  of  you  are  in  this 
case— i'  you  have  for  some  time  wi^lied  a  clear 
theoloirv  and  a  soiil-satisfvini]f  relii'ion,  this  is  the 
way  to  get  it.  You  have,  perhaps,  sought  it  in 
Oooks  and  in  sermons.     Perhaps  you  have  sough* 


J 


t  in  the  Bible,  and  in  clo^e  thinking,  and  yet  you 
have  not  found  it.  Seek  it  '•  from  above."  Seek 
it  in  prayer.  Don't  shut  the  Bible  and  forsake 
the  sanctuary.  Don't  fling  away  the  book,  or 
cease  to  reflect  and  meditate,  but  seek  the  wis- 
dom from  on  high.  It  is  not  plainer  preaching — 
certainly  it  is  not  a  clearer  Bible  that  you  need ; 
but  it  is  a  clearer  eyesight — a  power  of  sharper 
discernment,  and  a  more  perspicacious  insight  m 
yourself.  This  "  opening  of  your  eyes  " — this 
exaltation  of  your  faculties,  God  alone  can  give. 
But  he  will  give  it.  You  lack  wisdom.  Ask  it 
of  God.  With  your  reading,  hearing,  medita- 
tion, mingle  prayer;  and,  in  the  brightening  of 
your  views,  and  the  strengthening  of  your  faith, 
you  will  find  that  God  is  sending  out  his  light 
and  truth,  and,  by  the  illumination  of  his  own 
Spirit,  is  making  you  wiser  than  all  your  teachers. 


LECTUKE  V. 


TBE    OPEN    REWAEU    OF    SECRET    PRAYEE 


•Thou,  wlien  thou  prayest,  enter  into  thy  closet,  ami 
when  thou  hast  shut'  thy  door,  pray  to  thy  Father 
which  is  in  secret ;  and  thy  Father  which  seeth  in 
eecret,  shall  reward  thee  openly." — Matt.  vi.  6 

We  do  not  need  to  enter  the  closet  in  order  to 
find  the  Lord.  He  is  ever  near  to  us.  But  we 
enter  it  in  order  to  escape  from  distractions,  and 
in  order  to  regain  those  associations,  and,  it  may- 
be, to  surround  ourselves  with  those  mementos 
which  we  formerly  found  helpful  to  our  prayers. 
One  who  has  great  powers  of  abstraction  may- 
take  refuge  from  surrounding  bustle  in  the  depths 
of  his  own  spirit,  and  pass  along  the  crowded 
streets  in  the  perpetual  hermitage  of  his  own  self- 
seclusion,  undiverted  and  undistracted  by  all  that 
is  whirling  round  him.  But  few  have  this 
talent  of  inward  sequestration — this  power  to 
make  a  closet  of  themselves;  and,  in  order  to 
find  for  their  thoughts  a  peaceful  sanctuary,  they 
must  fmd  for  their  persons  a  tranquil  asylum.  Jt 
little  matters  where  or  what  it  is.  hsaxc  went 
out  into  the  field,  and  Jacob  plied  his  night-long 
prayer  beside  the  running  brook.  Abraham 
planted  a  grove,  and,  in  the  cool  shadow  of  his 
oaks  at  Beersheba,  he  called  on  the  name  of  the 


LECTURE     V. 


91 


liord.  Abraham's  servant  knelt  down  beside  his 
camel ;  and  it  would  appear,  from  some  of  his 
psalms,  that  a  cave,  a  mountain  fastness,  or  a 
cavern  in  the  rocks,  was  David's  frequent  ora- 
tory. Peter  had  chosen  for  his  place  of  prayer 
the  quiet  and  airy  roof  of  his  sea-side  lodging, 
when  the  messengers  of  Cornelius  found  him. 
It  would  seem  that  the  open  air — the  noiseless 
rimplitude  of  the  "  solitary  place  " — the  hill-side, 
with  the  stars  above,  and  the  shadowy  world  be- 
low—the fragrant  stillness  of  the  garden  when 
evening  had  dismissed  the  labourers,  were  the 
nlaces  where  the  Man  of  Sorrows  loved  to  pray. 
It  was  in  the  old  church  of  Ayr  that  John  Welsh 
was  wont,  all  alone,  to  wrestle  with  the  angel  of 
the  covenant;  and  we  have  stood  in  the  wild 
rock-cleft  where  Peden  found  frequent  refuge 
from  his  persecutors,  and  whence  he  caused  his 
cry  to  ascend  "  unto  the  Lord  most  high."  It 
does  not  need  four  walls  and  a  bolted  door  to 
make  a  place  of  prayer.  Retirement,  and  si- 
lence, and  a  sequestered  spirit  will  create  it  any- 
where. By  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea — in 
the  depths  of  the  forest— in  the  remoteness  of 
the  green  and  sunny  upland,  or  the  balmy  peace- 
fulness  of  the  garden  bower — nay,  amidst  the 
dust  of  the  dingy  wareroom,  or  the  cobwebs  of 
the  owlet-haunted  barn — in  the  jolting  corner 
of  the  crowded  stage,  or  the  unnoticed  nook  of 
the  travellers'  room,  you  have  only  to  shut 
your  eyes,  and  seclude  your  spirit,  and  you  have 
created  a  closet  there.  It  is  a  closet  wherever 
tho  sou.  finds  itself  alone  with  God. 

But,  besides  a  still  and  silent  place,  it  is  ink* 


02 


LECTURE     V  . 


portant  to  have  a  stated  place  for  prayer — *•  thy* 
closet — thy  familiar  and  frequented  place.  Al- 
though places  have  not  so  much  influence  on  us 
as  persons,  their  influence  is  great.  There  are 
places  where  we  would  like  to  be  when  trial 
comes — places  where  we  should  like  to  be  if  we 
are  to  sicken  and  he  laid  aside — places  wliere  we 
should  like  to  die — and  pliices  where  we  find  it 
most  congenial  and  delightful  to  pray.  Homes 
of  the  spirit  they  are;  places  that  seem  to 
understand  us  and  be  in  sympathy  with  us;  places 
that  have,  as  it  were,  imbibed,  and  do  still  retain, 
something  of  the  joys  we  once  tasted  in  them  ; 
places  which  make  bereavement  less  awful, 
loneliness  less  desolate,  happiness  more  intense, 
and  heaven  more  near.  When  Elijah  came  to 
Sarepta,  and  found  the  son  of  the  widow  dead, 
he  snatched  the  child  from  the  bosom  of  the 
weeping  mother  and  carried  him  "to  the  loft 
where  he  abodf,  and  laid  him  on  his  own  bed." 
Ind  there  *'  he  cried  unto  the  Lord,  O  Lord, 
my  God,  let  this  child's  soul  come  into  him 
again."  He  felt  as  if  this  loft,  where  he  had  so 
often  prayed  before,  was  the  likeliest  place  for 
prayer  now— the  place  where  he  might  penetrate 
into  Jehovah's  nearest  presence  and  procure  an 
unprecedented  blessing.  And  on  this  principle, 
perhaps,  it  was  that  David,  when  tidinrrs  came 
of  the  death  of  Absalom,  hasted  up  to  the"*'  cham- 
ber over  the  gate."  His  heart  was  breaking,  and 
lest  it  should  split  altoo-ether  in  this  unutterable 
sorrow,  he  sped  away  to  the  place  where  he  had 
found  lesser  sorrows  lightened ;  and,  as  he  stag- 
gered up  into  this  secret  sanctuary,  passionate 


LECTURE    V. 


93 


grief  began  to  give  place  to  prayer,  "  O  my  son 
Absalom,  my  son,  my  son  Absalom!  would 
God  I  had  died  for  thee,  0  Absalom,  my  son,  my 
son!"  And  this  is  the  best  consecration  any 
sanctuary  or  secret  chamber  can  acquire — the 
consciousnesss  that  there  you  have  met  with 
God,  and  the  hope  instinctive  that  there  you  may 
meet  him  yet  again.  Happy  are  you  if  there  be 
a  house  of  prayer  or  a  private  dwelling  which 
awakens  in  you,  as  you  near  it,  a  rush  of  holy 
feelings  or  happy  recollections — a  sanctuary 
round  which  a  constant  Sabbath  shines  and  • 
perpetual  air  of  heaven  reposes.  And  happy  are 
\ DM  if,  in  your  residence,  there  be  a  room- 
however  sombre  the  stranger  may  think  it — 
which  you  cannot  enter  without  a  secret  comfort 
suffusing  your  spirit ;  a  room  where,  in  dreariest 
moments,  you  feel  that  you  are  not  friendless, 
and  in  darkest  days  that  you  are  not  hopeless  ; 
a  room  in  which  memory  has  built  its  Peniels 
and  Ebenezers — its  memorials  of  ecstatic  hours 
and  answered  petitions ;  a  chamber  which  you 
ahnndon  with  regret  when  called  to  quit  the 
dwelling,  as  if,  in  leaving  it,  you  left  the  gale  of 
liejiven — the  closet  where  you  used  to  shui  to 
the  door  and  pray  to  your  Father  in  secret,  and 
feel  that  he  was  hearing  you. 

And  here  I  may  just  notice,  that  Desides  the 
open  return,  there  is  a  secret  reward  of  secret 
prayer.  There  is  a  peculiar  and  present  joy  m 
communion  with  God.  The  deepest  pleasure* 
are  the  purest ;  and  of  all  pleasures  the  purest  la 
the  peace  of  God.  To  feel  that  he  is  love— to 
draw  so  near   him  as  to  forget  the  world — so 


M 


LECTURE    T. 


near  as  to  lose  the  love  of  sin — so  near  that  all 
sensual  delights  are  drowned  in  the  river  of  his 
pleasures,  and  all   holy  joys   enhanced   in   the 
brinrhtness   of  his   smile — to   bask,  for  ever  so 
brief  a  moment,  in   the  h'g-ht  inaccessible,  and 
rejoice  with  loyally  of  spirit  ia  Jehovah's  right- 
eous sovereisfnty,  and  feel,  through  all  recesses 
of  the  soul,  the  sin-supplanting  flow  and  bea- 
tific thrills   of  infinite  holiness  and  soul-trans- 
forming love — to  be  this,  and  feel  this,  is,  of  all 
pleasures  the  s.veetest-of  all   blessedness   the 
purest  and  most  profound.     And   next   to   this 
high  communion  with  God — next  to  this  joy  of 
passions  lulled,  and  sins  slain,  and  self-forgotten 
in  adoring  fellowship  with  the  Father  of  Lights 
— is  their  sedater  comfort  who   can  pour  their 
griefs  into  their  Heavenly  Father's  bosom,  or  who 
feel  that  they  have  bespoken  help  against  com- 
ing toils  and   trials  at  their  Heavenly  Father's 
hand.     To  know  that  God  is  near — to  know  that 
he  is  trusted,  honoured,  loved — to  feel  that  you 
are  acting  towards  him  as  a  reverential  and  affec- 
tionate child,  and  that  he  is  feeling  towards  you 
as  a  gracious  and  compassionate  Father — thero 
is  in  this,  itself,  an  exquisite  satisfaction,  a  pre- 
sent reward. 

The  calm  retreat,  the  silent  shade. 

With  pray'r  and  praise  agree  ; 
Antl  seem  by  thy  sweet  bounty  made 

For  tho«a  who  follow  thee. 

There,  if  thy  Spirit  touch  the  soul. 

And  ^race  her  mean  abode ; 
Oh  !  with  what  peace,  and  joy,  and  love, 

ohe  communes  with  her  God. 


'I 


I 


LE  CTUEE     V.  96 

There,  like  the  nightingale,  she  pours 

Her  solitary  lays ; 
Nor  asks  a  witness  of  her  song, 

Nor  thirsts  for  human  praise 

But,  besides  this  secret  reward — this  present 
recompense,  of  which  the  praying  soul  aione  is 
conscious — there  is  an  open  reward  of  secret 
prayer  promised  in  the  text,  and  verified  wherever 
secret  prayer  is  practised. 

1.  And,  first  of  all,  we  remark  that  the  answer 
is  sometimes  open  when  the  prayer  is  secret. 
The  world  sees  the  result  when  it  little  suspects 
the  effectual  antecedent.  When  Jacob  and  Esau 
met — on  the  one  side  the  shaggy  chieftain  with 
his  four  hundred  swordsmen,  and  on  the  other 
side  the  limping  shepherd  with  his  caravan  of 
children  and  cattle — a  flock  of  sheep  approaching 
a  band  of  wolves ;  when  the  patriarch  took  his 
staff  in  his  hand  and  stepped  forward  to  meet  the 
embattled  company,  and  the  anxious  retinue 
awaited  the  issue — they  saw  the  tear  start  into 
the  rough  huntsman's  eye — they  saw  the  sword 
drop  from  Esau's  hand — they  saw  his  brawny 
arms  round  Jacob's  neck — they  saw  in  the  red 
savage  a  sudden  and  unlooked-for  brother. 
They  saw  the  result,  but  they  had  not  seen  the 
prelude  which  led  to  it.  They  had  not  been 
with  Jacob  at  the  ford  of  Jabbok  the  night  before. 
They  had  not  viewed  his  agony  and  heard  his 
prayer;  and  though  they  noticed  the  halting 
limb,  they  did  not  know  the  victory  whose  token 
it  was.  They  saw  the  patriarch,  the  husband, 
an*  the  father ;  but  they  knew  not  that  he  was  a 
priuje  with  God,  and  had  gained  Esau's  heart 


041 


LECTURE     V 


from  him  who  has  ail  hearts  in  his  hand.  The 
baking  thigh  and  the  pacified  foe  were  obvious  ; 
but  the  wreslhng  overnight  wa.^  unknown.  The 
reward  was  open,  but  the  prayer  was  secret. 

And  so  there  are  many  benefits  which  a  be- 
liever   secures   by   prayer — benefits    which    iho 
ivorld  envies  or  wonders  at,  but  of  which  the 
world  knows  not  the  secret  source.     "  This  man 
— tlicre  is  some  charm  about  him,  for  all  things 
answer  wiili  liim.     Things  in  which  others  fail, 
he  puts  to  his  hand  to  them,  and  instantly  they 
take  another  turn — they  swing  right — they  staiul 
fast — they  prosper  well     He  has  some  magic — 
for  whaii'ver   be    the  mischief,  he  escapes  it — 
whatever  be  the  calamity,  it  cannot  come  near 
him.     He  has  got  the  talisman  which  made  the 
wearer  invisible,  all  except  his  shadow.     AVIien 
any  disaster  comes  down,  it  crushes  that  shadow 
— any  blow,  it  divides  that  shadow — any  trap,  it 
only  cifchcs  that  shadow, — his  truest  self  gets 
always  clear  off."     You  are  perfectly  right.     It 
is  a  singular  fact — a  peculiar  circumstance.    "  He 
that  dwelleth  in  the  secrtt  i)lace   of  the  ]\Iost 
High,  shall  abide  under  the  shadow  of  the  Al- 
mighty.    He  shall  cover  thee  with  his  feathers, 
and    under  his  wings  shalt   thou  trust.     Thou 
shalt  not  be  afraid  for  the  terror  by  night,  nor  foi 
the  arrow  that  fiieth  by  day.     A  thousand  shall 
Hill  at  tliy  side,  and  ten  thousand  at  thy  right 
hand  ;  but  it  shall  not  come  nigh  thee.     Only 
with  thine  eyes  shalt  thou  behold,  and  see  the 
reward  of  the  wicked.     Because  thou  hast  mode 
the  Lord,  who  is  my  refuge,  even  the  Most  Hgh, 
thy  habitation,  there  shall  no  evil   befall  thee, 


LECTURE    V. 


97 


neither  shall  any  plague  come  nigh  thy  dwelling. 
Thou  slK\k  call  upon  him,  and  he  will  answer 
thee  :  ho  will  be  with  thee  in  trouble.  He  will 
deliver  and  honour  thee."*'  Prayer  is  the  talis- 
man. The  secret  of  tlie  Lord's  presence  is  the 
protecting  charm.  The  eye  of  Omniscience  de- 
tects his  dangers,  and  the  hand  of  Omnipotence 
clears  his  path,  and  finishes  his  work,  and  dis- 
pels or  reconciles  his  foes.  The  closet  secured 
it,  but  the  world  beholds  it.  The  prayer  was 
secret  but  the  reward  is  open. 

Amongst  these  open  rewards  of  secret  prayer, 
we  would  specify  presence  of  mind  and  compo- 
sure of  spirit.  There  are  some  persons  of  a  calm 
temperament,  who  pass  sedately  through  every 
scene,  and  are  seldom  taken  by  surprise.  They 
are  persons  of  ready  wit  and  exhaustless  re- 
sources and  constant  self-command.  But  there 
are  others  fearful  and  foreboding,  easily  stunned, 
and  easily  agitated.  They  are  perpetually  ap- 
prehending alien  in  the  street,  and  go  about  any 
new  undertaking  with  as  much  anxiety  as  would 
suffice  for  the  most  arduous  enterprise.  They 
will  pass  by  the  perilous  house  on  which  they 
are  plottiug  a  visit,  or  at  last  address  themselves 
to  the  knocker  with  as  much  trepidation  as  if 
they  expected  an  ogre  to  dart  from  behind  it. 
And  when  any  little  incident  occurs — any  con- 
juncture requiring  promptitude  or  dexterity — 
their  wits,  only  agile  in  forsaking  them,  are  sure 
to  be  out  of  the  way.  The  moment  is  flown — 
the  propitious  instant  is  past — and  it  is  only  when 
the  opportunity  is  gone  and  for  ever  that  they 

•  Psalm  xci 


96 


LECTUEE    V. 


perceive  the  very  thing  they  should  have  said  of 
done,  hot  in  theii  conifusion  it  did  not  occur  to 
them.     For  this  sore  evil   we  know  no  better 
remedy  than  the  prescription  of  the  text.     Prayer 
calms  and  fortifies  the  mind,  and  so  prepares  it 
for  the  rapid  incidents  and  sudden  emergencies 
of  the  day.     But  it  does  more  than  this.     Just 
as  you  may  have  noticed  those  who  move  in  the 
highest  circles,  and  who  are  accustomed  to  the 
loftiest  society  ;  they  not  only  continue  calm  and 
collected  when  others   are   embarrassed  or  un- 
hinged, but  in  circumstances  of  delicacy  or  dis- 
tress  to  others,  by  a  certain  high-born  address- 
a  certain  conscious  felicity — they  not  only  save 
themselves  from  awkwardness,  but  give  a  happy 
extrication  to  all   around   them.     So  there  are 
certain  persons  belonging  to  the  peerage  of  the 
faithful — men  of  as  old  a  family  as  Enoch's — 
princely  natures  who  are  wont  to  converse  even 
with  the  King  of  kings — men  who  in  tlieir  walk 
with  God  have  learned  the  happy  art  of  possess- 
ing their  own  souls  and  tranquillizing  the  souls 
of  others.     Their  hearts  are  fixed,  and  when  they 
hear  of  evil  tidings,  they  not  only  are  not  them- 
selves afraid,  but  their  assurance  comforts  and 
composes  others.     And  beyond  all  this,  the  man 
of     prayer    is     preternatural  I y    prompted    and 
strengthened  from  above.     Like  the  first  disci- 
ples, he  needs  to  take  no  thought  how  or  what 
he  shall  say  or  do,  'or  in  the  hour  of  exigency 
the  Holy  (jhost  will  teach  him.     And  hence,  in 
all  high  conjunctures,  men  of  prayer  have  sur- 
passed themselves,  and  have  felt  that  a  courage, 
or  prudence,  or   eloquence,  was  lent  them,  at 


LECTURE     V. 


which  they  themselves  wondered,  and  which  they 
only  understood  by  recollecting  that  in  their  lack 
of  wisdom  they  had  asked  of  God.  And  so, 
brethren,  if  you  would  be  carried  bravely  through 
scenes  of  affright — dexterously  through  scenes  of 
difficulty — or  triumphantly  through  scenes  of 
awful  alternative,  resort  to  your  Father  in  secret. 
When  Nehemiah  was  enabled  to  put  the  case  of 
his  people  so  touch ingly  to  the  Assyrian  monarch 
— the  pathos  of  his  statement — the  unwonted 
kindness  of  the  king — and  the  prompt  concession 
of  his  prayer,  were  the  open  reward  of  a  secret 
ejaculation.^^  And  when  Paul,  on  board  the 
foundering  ship,  played  such  a  gallant  part — the 
prisoner  superseding  centurion,  captain,  pilot,  and 
all — the  heroic  coolness,  the  veteran  sagacity, 
and  sublime  composure  which  made  him  appear 
a  sort  of  deity,  were  the  answer  to  fasting  and 
prayer.  When  his  friends  asked  the  great  phy- 
sician Boerhaave  how  he  could  possibly  go 
through  so  much  work  from  day  to  day,  and  pass 
tranquil  through  so  many  fretting  scenes,  he  told 
them  that  his  plan  was  to  devote  the  first  hour 
of  every  morning  to  prayer  and  meditation  on 
the  word  of  God. 

Another  open  reward  of  secret  prayer  is  spiri- 
tuality of  mind.  By  a  spiritual  mind  we  do  not 
mean  a  severe  mind,  or  a  sombre.  We  do  not 
mean  a  peculiar  phraseology,  or  an  aflfected  reli- 
gionism ;  but  we  mean  that  state  of  a  mind  right 
with  God,  when  it  is  all  alive  to  the  things  of 
God, — that  vividness  of  faith  when  the  things 
unseen  are  very  solid,  and  that  vivacity  of  feel- 

*  Nehemiah  ii.  4 — 6 


100 


LEf.  TITRE    V. 


ing  when  tnings  sacred  are  congenial  and  inte- 
resting and  aftecting.  A  spiritual  mind  is  one  to 
which  the  Bible  is  something  better  than  a  Dic- 
tionary, and  to  which  the  Sabbath,  with  its  exer- 
fises,  do«s  not  bring  the  sense  of  drudgery.  It 
IS  a  mind  clear-seeing  and  keen-hearing  ;  a  mind 
of  quick  perceptions  and  prompt  emotions  ;  a 
mind  to  which  the  Saviour  stands  out  a  living 
person,  and  for  which  heaven  is  waiting  an  ex- 
pected home  :  a  mind  so  sensitive,  that  wsin  makes 
it  writhe  with  agony,  whilst  it  finds  in  holiness  a 
true  deliciousness,  and  in  God's  conscious  favour 
an  Elysian  joy.  Now,  brethren,  if  you  would 
possess  such  a  mind  you  must  keep  it  fresh  and 
vegete  and  lifesome  by  secret  prayer.  Some 
professors  are,  in  this  respect,  deplorably  want- 
ing. Their  religion  is  formality.  Their  conver- 
sation rather  quotes  from  past  experience  than 
utters  what  they  now  realize  and  feel.  True 
piety  is  like  the  vestal  fire,  which  w  as  intended 
to  burn  day  and  night,  and  never  to  go  out,  and 
which  never  did  go  out,  so  long  as  they  remem- 
bered to  replenish  it  day  by  day.  The  religious 
profession  of  some  people  is  like  the  yellow  ashes 
on  a  key-cold  altar,  which  show  that  tliere  once 
were  warmth  and  light  and  flame,  but  which  also 
show  that  they  have  neglected  it  and  suffered  it 
to  die.  Brethren,  do  you,  morning  by  morning, 
pour  on  the  oil  of  secret  prayer,  and  add  the 
fresh  fuel  of  some  Bible-truth  well  pondered,  and 
your  fire  will  not  go  out.  The  altar  of  your 
heart  will  never  subside  to  the  clear-steel  cold- 
ness which  will  make  him  who  comes  in  contact 
with  it  shudder ;  and  you  will  always  have,  at 


LECTURE    V. 


101 


least,  a  little  spark  with  which  to  kindle  others 
Or,  using  a  homelier  metaphor,  religion,  in  the 
Boul  of  man,  is  like  some  precious  thing  in  a  ves- 
sel of  ill-seasoned  timber.  Not  only  does  the 
rough  wear  of  this  rude  world  sore  batter  it,  hut 
the  burning  sun  of  secularity,  the  glow  of  daily 
business,  is  enough  to  fill  it  full  of  flaws  and  fis- 
sures ;  and  it  is  only  by  putting  it  to  steep  over- 
night in  the  pool  of  Siloah,  that  the  chinks  will 
close,  and  the  cracked  and  leaky  firkin  be  ren- 
dered fit  for  another  morning's  use.  But  the 
man  who  abounds  in  secret  prayer  will  not  only 
preserve  his  own  vitality, — he  will  carry  away 
from  God's  presence  peace  and  joy  and  energy 
enough  to  make  him  a  benefactor  to  others.  A 
man,  mighty  in  prayer,  is  a  perpetual  comfort, — 
a  continual  cordial  in  a  world  like  this.  When 
a  prayerless  professor  tries  to  comfort  the 
afliicted,  he  defeats  his  own  well-meant  efforts. 
When  he  enters  the  house  of  mourning,  or  sits 
down  by  the  sick  man's  side,  it  is  like  a  traveller 
coming  in  from  a  frosty  atmosphere  to  the  cham- 
ber of  a  nervous  invalid.  Though  enveloped  in 
frieze  and  in  fur  himself,  he  brings  enough  of 
winter  in  his  clothes  to  make  the  poor  patient 
chatter.  But  the  man  of  prayer  bears  about  with 
him  a  genial  clime.  Even  in  the  dead  season 
of  the  year,  when  frost  is  black  and  fields  are 
iron,  he  carries  summer  in  his  person.  "  All  his 
garments  smell  of  myrrh  and  aloes  and  cassia." 
For  his  closet  is  the  ivory  palace, — the  gay  con- 
servatory where  flowers  of  paradise  are  blooming 
all  the  year.     There  is  a  gladness  in  his  coming, 


102 


LBCTITRl    V. 


for  he  never  comes  alone.     He  carries  his  Savi- 
our with  him. 

Then  comes  the  crowning  recompense, — tho 
open  reward  of  the  great  day.  At  that  clay  n» 
man  will  be  saved  for  his  prayers.  It  will  be 
said  to  none,  "  You  have  been  so  holy  and  so  de- 
vout, you  have  prayed  so  much,  and  laboured  so 
hard,  that  on  you  the  second  death  has  no 
power."  But  though  it  is  entirely  and  solely  for 
the  prayers, — the  precious  blood  and  perfect 
righteousness  of  God's  dear  Son, — that  any  soul 
can  enter  heaven  ;  there  will,  at  that  disclosing 
day,  be  a  rich  reward  of  secret  prayers.  When 
every  one  receives  the  things  done  in  his  body, 
eminent  intercessors  will  receive  the  final  answer 
to  the  prayers  of  a  life-time.  Of  many  of  tho 
petitions  offered  now  we  know  not  what  becomes. 
Some  are  for  places  far  away ;  some  for  people 
whom  we  never  see  again ;  some  for  blessings 
which,  if  bestowed,  we  can  never  know  it.  But 
all  these  prayers  are  efficacious.  If  prayers  of 
faith,  they  all  have  pre  valency.  They  have 
effected  something ;  and  they  are  all  self-regis- 
tering.  They  go  into  the  Book  of  Remembrance. 
They  keep  account  of  themselves,  or  rather  God 
keeps  it,  and  when  the  great  day  comes  round, 
and  the  throne  is  set,  and  the  books  are  opened, 
it  will  be  seen  how  much  every  Christian  has 
prayed,  what  were  the  gifts  he  coveted  most  ear- 
nestly, and  what  were  the  petitions  he  urged 
most  frequently.  And  strange  things  will  come 
to  light  that  day.  Here  is  one  who  was  never 
known  on  earth  ;  perhaps  'n  all  the  right-hand 
company  none  can  recollect  his  name.     He  waa 


LECTURE     V 


103 


rery  poor.  He  had  no  money  to  give  to  the 
cause  of  Christ, — hardly  the  two  mites ; — and  he 
was  very  plain,  simple,  and  unlearned.  He 
could  not  express  himself.  But  his  name  is 
Israel.  He  was  a  prince  with  God,  and  see  how 
often  he  has  prevailed.  And  here  is  another 
who  was  bed-rid  many  years,  could  not  work, 
could  not  visit,  could  not  write, — but  she  could 
pray.  And  see  what  a  benefactress  she  has  been. 
See  this  long  list  of  affectionate  intercessions  for 
her  relatives  and  neighbours  and  friends ;  these 
many  supplications  for  the  Church  and  the 
world,  for  the  unconverted,  for  Missions,  for 
mourners  in  Zion !  And  see  the  answers ! 
What  a  Dorcas  she  has  been, — though  she  could 
make  no  garments  for  the  poor !  What  a  Phoebe, 
— though  she  could  not  stir  a  step !  What  a 
Priscilla, — though  she  could  expound  the  way  of 
God  to  few,  for  her  prayers  often  did  it  all  I 
And  here  is  another.  He  had  just  escaped  from 
Papal  darkness,  and  w^as  beginning  to  enlighten 
others,  when  he  was  put  in  prison,  and  after 
months  of  languishing  he  went  up  from  Smith- 
field  in  his  chariot  of  fire, — a  martyr  of  Jesus 
Christ.  He  never  preached.  He  was  refused 
the  use  of  ink  and  pen.  He  wrote  nothing.  He 
printed  nothing.  He  spake  to  no  one,  for  thick 
dungeon-walls  enclosed  him.  But  he  prayed. 
From  the  height  of  his  sanctuary  the  Lord  looked 
down  :  he  heard  the  groaning  of  this  prisoner  ; 
and  in  the  Reformation  sent  the  answer. 


LECTUKE  VI. 

■lASONS   WH¥   PRAYER   IS   NOT  ANSWERED. 


•*  Ask,  and  it  shill  be  given  you.*'— Matt.  vii.  7. 

•Y©  ask,  and  receive  not,  because  ye  ask  amiss."—. 

James  iv.  3. 

Suppose  that  a  man  takes  up  his  pen  and  a 
piece  of  parchment,  and  writes  on  the  top  of  it, 
"  To  the  Queen's  Most  Excellent  Majesty,  the 
humble   petition   of  So  and   so,"  but  there  he 
stops.     He  sits  with  the  pen  in  his  hand  for  half 
an  hour,  but  does  not  add  another  word,  then 
rivs  and  goes  his  way.     And  he  repeats  this 
process    day  after  day— beginning  a  hundred 
sheets  of  paper,  but  putting  into  them  no  express 
request ;  sometimes,  perhaps,  scrawling  down  a 
lew  seme^nces  which  nobody  can  read,  not  even 
Mmself,  but  never  plainly  and  deliberately  set- 
ting down  what  it  is  that  he  desires.     Can  he 
wonder  that  his  blank  petitions  and  scribbled 
parchments  have  no  sensible  effect  on  himself 
nor  on  any  one  besides  ?    And  has  he  any  ri^ht 

ntK?/L"  T   '^°"^''  ^^^^  '*^»  ^   ^«  matter. 
Other  people  get  answers  to  their  petitions,  but  1 

am  not  aware  that  the  slightest  notice  has  ever 

beeii  taken  of  one  of  mine.     I  am  not  conscious 

tf  havmg  got  a  smgle  favour,  or  bein^  a  whit 


LECTURE     VI. 


105 


the  better  for  all  that  I  have  written  ?"  Could 
yovL  expect  it  ?  When  did  you  ever  finish  a  peti- 
tion? When  did  you  ever  despatch  and  for- 
ward one  to  the  feet  of  majesty  ? 

And  so,  my  friends,  there  are  many  persons 
who  pass  their  days  inditing  blank  petitions — or 
rather  petitionless  forms  of  prayer.  Every 
morning  they  bend  their  knee,  and  continue  a 
few  moments  in  the  devotional  attitude.  They 
address  themselves  to  the  Heavenly  Majesty. 
They  call  on  the  "  great  and  dreadful  name  "  of 
God,  and  they  go  over  a  few  words  and  sen- 
tences, but  such  incoherent  and  unfelt  sentences  as 
the  child  who  cannot  write  would  scrawl  upon  a 
piece  of  paper.  Or  perhaps  they  say  nothing. 
They  leave  it  a  perfect  blank.  And  after  this 
form  of  worship  they  go  their  way  and  wonder 
why  their  prayers  are  not  heard.  Other  people 
get  answers,  but  they  are  not  conscious  that  any 
prayer  of  theirs  has  ever  produced  the  least 
effect. 

Now,  of  this  we  are  very  certain,  that  there  is 
no  prayer  but  something  comes  of  it.  Leaving 
out  of  view  those  vain  and  rambling  repetitions 
— those  empty  words  which  constitute  the  entire 
devotions  of  some  formalists — we  are  warranted 
by  the  word  of  God  to  aver  that  there  is  no  real 
prayer  which  is  not  somehow  disposed  of — no  re- 
quest presented  at  the  mercy-seat,  which  is  not, 
in  Bible  language,  "  considered,"  and  either  re 
fused  or  granted.  Many  appear  to  fancy  that 
prayers  are  like  a  flight  of  promiscuous  missiles, 
of  which  a  few  find  the  mark,  but  the  greater 
aumber  alight  nowhere  and  bring  back  nothing. 


LECTtJEE    VI. 


This  infidel  and  irrational  view  gets  no  counter 
nance  from  the  word  of  God.  There  we  learn, 
that  if  it  be  a  prayer  at  all — a  sincere  desire 
offered  to  the  living  God  in  hia  appointed  way— 
ir  obtains  an  answer — whether  that  answer  be  a 
full  or  partial  compliance,  or  an  entire  refusal. 
And  it  therefore  becomes  a  question  of  the  utmost 
practical  moment  to  know  what  those  conditions 
are  that  mar  the  efficacy,  or  impede  the  return  of 
prayers. 

1.  It  is  competent  to  the  sovereign  to  fix  the 
channel  througii  which  he  desires  that  his  sul^ 
jects  should  transmit  their  petitions.  Owing  to 
tlieir  elevated  rank,  some  have  a  right  to  request 
an  immediate  audience  of  majesty,  and  present 
their  applications  in  proper  person  and  in  their 
own  name  ;  but  usually  there  is  some  fixed  me- 
dium through  which  the  suits  of  common  sub- 
jects must  come — a  particular  minister  through 
whom  all  memorials  and  supplications  must  be 
transmitted.  Now  there  is  a  celestial  peerage 
who  come  before  the  King  of  kings  in  their  own 
right.  The  sons  of  God — some  orders  of  the 
heavenly  host^ — need  no  mediator  in  drawing 
near  to  God.  They  come  with  veiled  faces  and 
lowly  reverence,  but  still  they  come  in  virtue  of 
their  birth-right— they  come  direct.  It  is  not  so, 
however,  with  oar  world's  population.  Not  so 
much  on  account  of  our  lowlier  rank,  as  of  our 
personal  demerit,  there  is  no  immediate  entrance 
for  any  son  of  Adam  into  the  presence  of  the 
heavenly  majesty.  But  there  is  a  day's-man 
.ippointed ;  and,  so  to  speak,  it  is  a  standing  ordef 
ia  the  court  of  heaven,  that  each  petition  from 


LECTURE     VI. 


107 


earth  shall  be  transmitted  through  "  the  minister 
of  the  new  covenant " — through  that  divine  per- 
son on  whose  shoulder  is  devolved  the  govern 
ment  of  this  our  far-off  colony.  Now,  what  say 
you  ?  Suppose  that  any  one  should  try  to  over 
leap  this  standing  order — suppose  that  any  one 
should  either  in  his  proud  stubbornness  scorn  it 
or  in  his  carelessness  forget  it,  and  try  to  forward 
his  petition  in  his  own  name — can  he  wonder  if 
an  omission  so  flagrant  should  ensure  its  rejec- 
tion ?  The  petition  may  be  very  earnest  and  its 
object  may  be  perfectly  right,  but  the  mode  of  its 
transmission  is  wrong.  And  this  is  no  matter  of 
mere  etiquette,  like  some  of  the  court-arrange- 
ments of  earth,  but  a  matter  of  high  import,  and 
meant  to  fulfil  exalted  ends.  It  is  designed  in 
honour  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  to  whose  memo- 
rable interposition  it  is  owing  that  there  is  any 
loyalty  in  this  revolted  world,  and  to  whose  ad- 
ministration the  entire  of  its  affairs  is  now 
entrusted,  and  to  whose  name  it  is  but  seemly 
that  every  knee  should  bow.  Whosoever  would 
present  an  acceptable  petition  and  secure  a  return 
to  his  prayer  must  remember  that  saying  of  the 
Lord  Jesus  himself,  "  Whatsoever  ye  shall  ask 
the  Father,  in  my  name,  that  will  1  do,  that  the 
Father  may  be  glorified  in  the  Son."* 

2.  But,  secondly,  besides  asking  in  a  self- 
righteous  spirit,  a  person  may  actually  ask  wrong 
things.  A  child  who  has  never  seen  a  serpent 
before  and  who  looks  at  it  through  the  glass-frame 
may  think  it  very  beautiful.  As  it  curls  and 
glides  about  in  its  folds  of  green  and  gold,  and 

•  John  xiv.  13. 


109' 


LECTURE     VI. 


Its  ruby  eyes  sparkle  in  the  sun,  it  looks  fwe  prm- 
tier  than  more  familiar  objectSi  and  the  chiid  may 
long  to  grasp  it :  "  But  what  man  is  there  among 
you  who  is  a  father,  if  his  son  ask  a  serpent,  will 
he  give  him  the  serpent  ?"  And  supposing  that 
the  fretful  child  should  weep  because  he  is  not 
all  '  to  fondle  the  asp,  could  worse  befall  him 
thnii  ju?t  to  be  allowed  to  smash  the  case  and 
clutch  the  envenomed  reptile  ?  The  Lord  has 
£0!i)f  times  permitted  his  imperious  and  wayward 
children  thus  to  punish  themselves  ;  but  more 
frequently  and  more  mercifully,  he  refuses  their 
heart  eitful  lust.     One  sets  his  eye  on  the 

golden  serpent,  and  prays  that  God  would  make 
him  rich.  But  the  Lord  still  keeps  the  shining 
serpent  beyond  his  reach;  for  should  he  have 
eded  in  hugging  it  to  his  bosom,  it  might 
1  stung  him  with  many  sorrows,  or  even 

plunged  him  in  perditien.  Another  sets  his  eye 
on  the  fiery  flying  serpent  of  fame,  and  wonders 
after  it,  and  wishes  that  he  too  could  fix  his  re- 
putation to  it,  and  see  his  own  name  flickering 
as  a  part  of  its  meteor-train  in  its  flight  through 
the  firmament.  But  this  wish  is  also  refused — 
and  instead  of  a  diz/y  and  dangerous  renown,  he 
is  appointed  to  a  safe  obscurity.  And  sometimes 
lequests,  right  or  religious-looking,  are  refused. 
When  the  mother  of  Zebedee's  children  came 
and  said,  **  Grant  that  these  my  two  sons  may  sit, 
the  one  on  thy  right  hand  ama  the  other  on  thy 
left,  when  thou  comest  in  thy  kingdom, "—there 
was  a  plausibility  and  a  certain  faith  in  the  peti- 
tion. It  assumed  that  Christ  had  indeed  a  king 
dom,  and  was  yet  to  come  gloriously,  and  it  said 


LECTURE     VI. 


109 


that  the  highest  honour  she  could  seek  for  James 
and  John,  was  the  highest  office  there.  But  the 
request  was  ambitious.     It  was  wrong  and  waa 

refused. 

3.  And  this  leads  us  to  remark  that  a  person 
may  ask  right  things  with  a  wrong  motive. 
When  Simon  Magus  besought  the  Apostles  that 
he  might  receive  the  gift  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  he 
asked  a  good  thing ;  emphatically  the  best  thing  ; 
but  he  asked  it  with  a  bad  motive,  that  he  might 
make  it  a  source  of  personal  gain;  and  instead 
of  a  blessing  his  prayer  was  answered  with  a 
curse.  "  Ye  ask  and  receive  not,  because  ye  ask 
amiss,  that  ye  may  consume  it  upon  your  lusts."* 
Even  spiritual  mercies  are  refused  to  you, because 
you  w^ould  employ  them  on  carnal  ends. 

4.  Such  a  sin  may  be  cherished  in  the  heart 
as  makes  prayer  unavailing.  "  If  I  regard  ini- 
quity in  my  heart,  the  Lord  will  not  hear  me."t 
To  keep  a  sin  in  the  heart  whilst  there  is  a  prayer 
on  the  lips,  is  like  going  into  the  monarch's  pre- 
sence arm  in  arm  with  a  rebel,  or  getting  some 
noted  enemy  of  his  to  countersign  our  petition. 
It  is,  as  it  were,  courting  a  refusal.  "  It  is  effect- 
ually saying  to  God,  '  Thy  greatest  blessing  I 
am  content  to  want.  Holiness,  deliverance  from 
sin,  I  am  willing  to  do  without ;  but  this  particu- 
lar boon,  as  it  is  thine  to  bestow,  so  I  am  reluct- 
antly constrained  to  ask  it  from  thee.'  "I  It  is 
as  if  the  one  hand  held  out  a  plea  for  God's  fa- 
vour, and  the  other  a  plea  for  God's  frown.  In 
truth,  it  is  the  more  honest  part  of  the  man  con- 
tradicting the  other ;  the  sinner  shouting  Nay  to 

•  James  iv.  3.        t  Psalm  Ixvi.  18.        t  F'>«ter,  MS. 
10 


110 


LECTURE    TI. 


the  Amen  of  the  hypocrite,  and  drowning  in  hii 
louder  voice  the  feeble  muttering  of  the  feigned 
lips.     You  have  all  heard  of  Augustine's  prayer. 
In  the  days  of  his  licentiousness  he  had  too  much 
conscience  to  live  without  prayer,  and  too  much 
love  of  sin  to  pray  without  a  secret  reservation ; 
and  so  his  prayer  ran,  *'  Lord  convert  me— ohi 
convert  me— but  not  to-day,  Lord,  not  to-day." 
And  the  same  is  the  translated  purport  of  many 
a  prayer      One  prays,  "  Lead  me  not  into  temp- 
tation," when  he  has  already  in  his  possession 
the  play-house  ticket  which  he  means  to  use  that 
evening ;  or  when  he  has  already  made  an  en- 
gagement with  some  of  his  ungodly  friends,  and 
is  looking  forward  with  eagerness  to  their  society. 
Another  prays,  "  And  forgive  me  my  trespasses," 
when  he  has  in  his  heart  a  scheme  of  revenge, 
and  is  already  in  imagination  glorying  over  his 
humbled  rival  orhis  defeated  adversary.     And  a 
third  prays,  "  Lord,  let  me  die  the  death  of  the 
righteous,"  when  he  has  already  made  all  the 
arrangements  for  some  nefarious  transaction,  and 
when  the  very  next  act  of  self-denial  which  ho  is 
called  to  exercise  will  be  the  triumph  of  sensuality 
or  self-indulgence.     And  a  fourth  cries,  '« As  I  to 
others  mercy  show,  I  mercy  beg  from  heaven  ;" 
and  at  that  moment  he  is  allowing  some  neces- 
sitous kinsman  to  languish  in  neo-lected  miserv 
or  with  an  ample  fortune  is  contributing  nothing 
to  the  diffusion  of  that  Gospel,  which  is  the  rnly 
means  of  rescuing  men  from  eternal  ruin. 

5.  Some  prayers  are  not  heard  becaiise  men 
do  not  believe  that  God  will  grant  them  Wero 
you  writing  a  note  to  a  friend,  and  saying,  "  I 


LECTURE     VI. 


Ill 


would  be^  much  the  better  for  such  a  thing  " — 
naming  it.  "  You  can  easily  spare  it,  but  I  have 
little  expectation  that  you  will  do  me  such  a  fa- 
vour." Would  this  be  a  likely  way  to  compass 
his  object  ?  Though  he  had  wished  to  fail,  could 
he  have  worded  his  application  otherwise  ?  And 
so,  when  a  man  gets  down  on  his  knees  and  prays 
for  pardon  of  his  sins,  or  for  the  teaching  of  the 
Holy  Spirit,  or  for  assurance  of  salvation,  but 
prays  for  them  as  if  the  Lord  would  grudge  to 
give  them,  can  he  wonder  that  he  is  not  heard  ? 
Whatsoever  the  Lord  has  promised,  that  he  is 
willing  to  bestow,  and  "  whatsoever  things  we 
ask  in  prayer,  believing  that  we  have  them,  we 
receive  them." 

6.  Some  prayers  are  not  answered  because, 
though  earnest  at  the  time,  the  petitioner  has 
grown  indifferent  afterwards. 

7.  Some  prayers  are  answered,  but  the  an 
swer  is  a  long  time  arrived  before  the  petitioner 
adverts  to  it.  Like  a  man  who  despatches  for 
the  physician  one  express  after  another,  and  at 
last  he  arrives,  and  is  actually  in  the  house ;  but 
unapprised  of  his  presence,  the  sick  man  sends 
off  another  messenger  to  hasten  his  approach. 
Or  as  you  may  have  sent  for  some  book  or  other 
object  which  you  were  anxious  to  possess,  but  as 
it  is  long  of  making  its  appearance,  your  anxiety 
to  see  it  begins  to  abate,  and  by-and-bye  you  have 
almost  forgotten  it ;  when  some  day  you  take  up 
a  parcel  that  has  long  lain  unopened  in  a  corner 
of  the  room,  and  find  that  it  is  the  very  thing  you 
were  once  so  impatient  to  get.  "  And  when  did 
this  arrive?"    Oh  I  months  ago.    "How  strange 


LECTURE     VI. 


LtCTURE     V  J.. 


113 


then,  ihat  1  should  never  have  noticed  it  till  now  '" 
In  extreme  agony  Jacob  vowed  a  vow,  and  prayed 
a  prayer :  "If  God  will  be  with  me,  and  will  keep 
me  in  this  way  that  I  go,  and  will  give  me  bread 
to  eat  and  raiment  to  put  on,  so  that  I  come  again 
to  my  father's  house  in  peace;    then  the  Lord 
shall  be  my  God,  and  this  stone  which  I  have 
set  up  for  a  pillar  shall  be  God's  house."     It  was 
an  earnest  and  importunate  prayer.     It  was  an- 
swered.    Every  petition  was  fulfilled.     All  that 
he  asked,  Jacob  obtained.     He  got  bread  to  eat ; 
he  got  raiment  to  put  on.     He  was  delivered  from 
Esau  his  brother.     He  came  back  to  his  father's 
house  ill  peace,  and  in  unimagined  prosperity 
But  it  never  occurred  to  Jacob  that  his  prayer 
was   answered  till  the  Lord  himself  reminded 
him.     He  might  have  seen  the  answer  in  his 
peaceful  tent,  in  his  grazing  flocks  and  herds,  in 
his  large  and  powerful  family,  and  in  himself— 
the  fugitive  lad  come  home  a  prince  and  a  patri- 
arch.    But  it  was  not  till  the  Lord  appeared  and 
said,  "  Arise,  go  up  to  Bethel,  and  dwell  there ; 
and  make  there  an  altar  unto  God  that  appeared 
unto  thee  when  thou  fleddest  from  Esau  thy  bro- 
ther ;"  it  was  nut  till  then  that  Jacob  recollected 
the  vow,  or  detected  the  answer ;    and  had  the 
Lord  not  reminded  him,   Bethel  and  its  pillar 
might  have  faded  for  ever  from  Jacob's  memory. 
And  so,  parents  in  the  days  of  their  children's  in- 
fancy often  nray  for  their  children's  conversion, 
and  when  they  see   their  wayward    freaks  and 
wicked  tempers,  the  tear  starts  in  their  eye,  and 
they  are  ready  to  give  up  hope.     But  one  by  one 
the  Lord  brings  them  to  himself.     The  prayer  is 


I 


partly  or  wholly  answered,  and  ere  they  are 
gathered  to  their  fathers,  these  parents  find  them- 
selves surrounded  by  a  godly  seed.  But  it  never 
strikes  them  that  here  is  an  answer  to  prayer. 
Or  a  company  of  Christians  pray  for  a  revival  of 
religion,  and  they  fix  their  eye  on  a  particular 
spot  of  the  horizon,  nothing  doubting  but  that  it 
is  there  the  cloud  must  appear.  And  whilst  they 
kneel  and  pray  and  mourn  that  the  sky  continues 
brass,  they  never  notice  that  in  the  opposite  quar- 
ter the  heavens  are  melting,  and  there  is  an  abun- 
dance of  rain.  Though  not  in  the  form  nor  in 
the  direction  which  they  first  desired,  still  the 
blessing  is  come,  and  perhaps  in  measure  it  sur- 
passes their  fondest  expectation  and  their  largest 
prayer. 

10* 


LECTURE  VIL 


CONFESStON,    ADORATION,   AND   THAJ^KSGiyiNO. 


•< 


I  said,  I  will  confess  my  transgressions  unto  the  Lord 
and  thou  forgavest  the  iniquity  of  my  sin. 

Be  glad  in  the  Lord,  and  rejoice,  ye  righteous :  and 
shout  for  joy,  all  ye  that  are  upright  in  heart."     Psalm 

JIfc  All  Jti  III'*  t.1*  X   mi  K 


Although  prayer,  in  its  strictest  sense,  be  the 
supplication  of  mercies  for  ourselves  or  others, 
the  devotional  exercises  of  believers  are  not  con- 
fined to  mere  petitions.  In  the  Psalms,  and  other 
Bible-specimens  of  prayer,  we  find  acknowledg- 
ments of  sin,  the  praises  of  the  divine  perfections, 
and  grateful  ascriptions  for  good  and  perfect  gifts 
Destowed  ;  and,  that  our  survey  may  be  the  more 
complete,  we  shall  bestow  the  present  discourse 
on  the  three-fold  subject  of  Confession,  Adora- 
tion, and  Thanksgiving. 

CONFESSION. 

There  are  three  things  which  often  hinder  con- 
fession—callousness, sullenness,  and  remorse. 
In  the  anguish  of  newly-committed  sin,  or  in  the 
despair  of  a  newly-awakened  conscience,  the 
gtiift  is  so  ghastly  that  the  sou.  is  afraid  to  ap- 
proach it,  even  with  a  view  to  confession.     Such 


LECTURE     VII 


115 


I 
pi 


was  the  Psalmist's  case.  His  convictions  were 
so  dreadful  that  he  wished  some  time  to  elapse, 
trusting  that  the  interval  might  make  it  some- 
what better.  He  "  kept  silence;"  but,  like  the 
damper,  which  only  makes  the  furnace  draw  the 
fiercer,  the  fire  kindled  in  his  spirit  flamed  the 
more  furiously  from  his  efforts  to  suppress  it. 
He  kept  silence,  but,  whilst  he  did  so,  his  houm 
waxed  old,  and  his  moisture  was  turned  into  sum- 
mer's drought.  But,  after  thus  battling  with  his 
agonies,  he  yielded.  In  a  lull  of  this  menta. 
fever — in  a  lucid  interval  of  his  remorseful  freifey, 
he  took  another  thought,  and  said,  "  I  will  con- 
fess my  transgressions  unto  the  Lord ;"  and  no 
sooner  said  than  there  was  a  great  calm  in  his 
spirit.  His  sin  was  confessed  ;  his  trespass  was 
forgiven  ;  his  convictions  vanished ;  the  Lord's 
hand  withdrew;  and,  in  the  gayety  of  his  con- 
valescent spirit,  he  began  to  sing,  "  Blessed  is  he 
whose  transgression  is  forgiven,  whose  sin  is  cov- 
ered."— Then,  there  are  others,  who,  without 
anything  of  the  Psalmist's  sharp  remorse,  have  a 
sullen  sense  of  wrong.  They  know  that  they 
have  ofTended,  and  that  there  is  an  unsettled  con- 
troversy betwixt  themselves  and  God;  but,  instead 
of  resorting  at  once  to  his  mercy  in  Jesus  Christ, 
they  wish  to  wear  off  their  guilt  by  degrees 
They  would  like  to  work  it  off,  or  live  it  off. 
They  expect  that  its  crimson  hue  will  fade  in  the 
course  of  time,  and  that  its  pricks  will  be  blunted 
in  the  lapse  of  years ;  and,  as  they  cannot  brook 
to  assume  the  publican's  attitude,  or  to  come  as 
poor  abjects  to  the  fountain,  they  carry  their  sin 
about  with  them,  unacknowledged  and  uncoil- 


116 


LECTURE     VII. 


fessed.       Perhaps  they  go   again    and   again  to 
prayer;  but  there  is  no  conlldence  in  their  worship 
and  no  earnestness  in  their  petitions,  for  this  sin  is 
constantly  presenting  itself,  and  they  are  as  con- 
stantly evading  it.     They  are  walking  contrary 
to  God,  and  he  walks  contrary  to  them.     Feel- 
ing that  their  position  is  false,  their  air  is  em- 
barrassed  and   uneasy.     Their  footing   is  inse- 
cure, and  their  resistance  to  temptation  feeble. 
And,  going  about  their  daily  occupations  under 
the  Lord's  frown  they  are  constantly  frustrated. 
Perhaps  their  worldly  business  goes  back  ;  most 
probably  they  are  getting  into  endless  perplexities 
and  entanglements — vexing   their  friends   when 
they  did    not  mean    to   offend   them — lowering 
themselves  in  the  eyes  of  others  when  they  did 
nothing  particularly  wrong:    and  standing  rue- 
fully, because  remorsefully  amid  the  wreck  of 
many  schemes,  and  the  crash  of  many  efforts ; 
and  proving  by  a  costly  experiment,  the  truth  of 
the  saying—"  He  that  coverelh  his  sins  shall  not 
prosper."     Oh !  that  they  were  wise  enough  to 
turn  round  and  prove  the  truth  of  that  other  al- 
ternative— "  But  whoso  confesseth  and  forsaketh 
them  shall  have  mercy." — And  then,  again,  there 
are  some  who  are  kept  from  confessing  their  sin, 
neither  by  the  violence  of  their  remorse,  nor  the 
suUenness  of  their  spirits,  but  by  the  callousness 
of  their  conscience.     They  have  got  so  much  into 
the  custom  of  sinning  without  compunctiwi,  that 
they  can   scarcely   understand   how  confession 
could  bring  them  any  relief,  or  make  them  hap- 
pier than   they  this  moment  are.     A  man  who 
has  laboured  under  a  disease  for  many  years, 


LECTURE     VII. 


117 


comes  at  last  to  lay  his  account  with  it.  If  h« 
has  no  stound  of  exquisite  anguish,  or  no  unusual 
feeling  of  pain  or  debility— if  he  be  in  his  "  frail 
ordinary"' — he  is  content.  He  expects  no  belter. 
The  truth  is,  his  nervous  system  has  become 
inured  to  a  certain  amount  of  habitual  suffering, 
and  disease  itself  ceases  to  be  pain.  But  if  some 
feat  of  medicine,  or  some  sudden  miracle  should 
expel  ilie  ailment  from  his  system,  and  giv^e  him 
at  once  absolute  soundness,  he  would  perceive  a 
world-wide  difference  betwixt  the  dull  apathy  of 
diseasi-  and  the  joyous  gush  of  health — betwixt 
mer. •  t  xemption  from  torture  and  positive  sensa 
tions  of  salubrity  and  vigour.  "  By  habit  in  sin 
the  sfiiifTs  of  remorse  may  be  blunted,  yet  peace 
never  v\ill  return.  By  repealing  transgression  a 
great  many  times,  we  all  come  at  last  to  feel  a 
general  and  settled  uneasiness  of  heart,  which  is 
a  con-tant  burden,  but  so  constant  that  the  sinner 
com;  s  to  consider  it  as  a  necessary  part  of  his 
existence  ;  and  when,  at  last,  he  comes  and  con- 
fesses his  sins,  and  finds  peace  and  happiness,  he 
is  surprised  and  delighted  with  the  new  and 
strange  sensation."  * 

Were  confession  a  mere  act  of  self-mortifica- 
tion— did  it  end  in  mere  regrets  and  self-re- 
proaches— it  would  answer  little  end.  The  rash 
words  which  no  compunction  can  recall — the 
wasted  Sabbaths  which  no  wishes  can  redeem — 
the  broken  hearts  of  distant  days  and  departed 
friends,  which  no  churchyard  sighs  can  heal, 
and  the  demolished  joys  which  no  tears  can  ci«- 
ate  anew : 

•  Abbot's  "  Young  Christian." 


118  LECTURE     VII. 

For  violets  pluck'd,  the  sweetest  shonen 
Can  ne'er  make  grow  aj^ain  : 

were  confession  merely  the  mental  penance  of 
remembering  and  brooding  over  these,  there  were 
no  need  to  add  it  to  the  sum  of  human  sorrow. 
But  evangelical  confession — that  discovery  and 
acknowledg-ment  of  the  outstanding  sins  of  his 
history,  and  the  conspicuous  sins  of  his  charac- 
ter, as  well  as  of  the  guilt  of  his  original — which 
the  Word  of  God  requires  from  each  of  us,  is  for 
purposes  totally  different.  Evangelical  confes- 
sion is  the  inlet  to  peace  with  God,  and  the  out- 
set of  new  obedience. 

The  great  object  of  self-examination  should  be 
to  search  out  the  sm  with  the  express  view,  and 
on  very  purpose,  to  cast  it  into  the  sin-cancelling 
Fountain  opened  in  the  House  of  David;  and 
then  the  confession  will  bring  comfort  to  the  sin- 
ner, when  he  thinks  that  the  cleansing  current^, 
of  atoning  blood  have  washed  his  guilt  awa>. 
Like  the  camp  of  Israel  on  the  day  of  atonement. 
They  all  met — the  most  solemn  fast  of  their  year 
— before  the  tabernacle,  in  the  morning  very 
early ;  and  after  many  other  ceremonies,  two 
goats  were  brought  up  to  the  high-priesi  at  the 
ahar.  He  placed  himself  between  them,  and 
shook  a  box,  in  which  were  i\w  little  tablets,  one 
inscribed,  "  For  Jehovah,"  the  other,  "  For  Aza- 
zel.  *  When  he  drew  the  one,  he  said  with  a 
loud  voice,  *'  For  Jehovah,"  and  placed  the  tablet 
m  the  head  of  the  right-hand  goat.  Then  he 
confessed  over  it  his  own  and  the  people's  sins, 
and  slew  it,  and  carried  the  blood  into  the  Holy 
Place  as  an  atonement  for  his  own  sins  and  the 


* 


LECTURE    VII. 


119 


people's.     The  high-priest  then  went  to  the  goat 
*'  Azazel,"  and  put  his  hands  upon  its  head  and 
confessed  over  it  again  the  sins  of  himself  and 
the   people;    and,  when  this  was  done,  an  ap- 
pointed person  came  forward  and  carried  the  goat 
away  to  the  wilderness,  where  it  should  wander 
and  be  lost,  or  threw  it  over  the  rocks  that  it 
might  return  no  more.     It  needed  the  two-fold 
emblem  to  .4iadow  Him  whose  atonement  is  at 
once  the  removal  of  guilt  and  the  reparation  for 
it ; — whose  blood  cleanseth  from  sin,  and  whose 
worthiness  carrieth  sin  away.     And,  just  as  the 
believing  Israelite  who  could  see  the  Lord's  mean- 
ing  in   the   touching    token— as    that    Israelite 
would  accompany,  with  earnest  heart,  the  priest 
as  he  made  confession  over  the  victim's  head, 
and  would   feel  that  his  guilt   was  figuratively 
transferred  to  this  innocent  substitute ;  so,  breth- 
ren, it  is  for  us  to  confess  our  trespasses  over  His 
head  who  is  the  propitiation  for  the  sins  of  the 
world,  and  on  whom  the  Lord  hath  really  laid 
the  iniquities  of  us  all.     And  if  we  do  this — if 
we  make  the  deliberate  transference  of  our  guih 
to  this  all-sufficient  substitute — like  the  Israelite 
who  saw  the  trickling  blood  of  the  one  victim, 
and    felt,    "  Surely  there    is  a  sacrifice  for  sin. 
Let  this  blood  be  for  mine  ;"  so,  looking  to  the 
wounded,  dying  Surely,  we  can   securely  feel, 
"  This  is  not  the  blood  of  bulls  or  of  goats,  but  a 
belter  sacrifice.     This  is  the  precious  blood  of 
God's  only  and  well-beloved  Son,  shed  for  many. 
Let  it  flow  for  me.     Jesus,  be  thou  my  righteous- 
ness—be thou  the  reparation  for  my  sin."     And 
then  as  the  Israelite  saw  the  strong  man  leading 


120 


LECTURE     VII. 


the  other  g:oat  away  into  the  wilderness,  and 
gazed  with  interest  after  them  till  they  disap- 
^ared  in  th.  ^ey  horizon,  and  felt,  «  /here  .h'c 
sin  is  away  into  a  land  not  inhabited.  It  is  lost 
— forgotten;  if  sought  for  it  cannot  again  be 
found."  So,  if  you  sinceiely  transfer  your  sin  to 
the  Saviour,  the  Lamb  of  God  will  take  it  away. 
It  will  vanish  from  God's  sight.  It  will  be  count- 
ed as  if  it  had  never  been.  You  will  be  dealt 
with  not  only  as  one  who  has  made  expiation, 
but  as  one  in  whom  there  is  no  iniquity.  You 
will  be,  in  God's  sight,  as  innocent ;  and  that  sm 
will  never  be  punished  in  you  which  the  Son  of 
God  hath  atoned  for,  and  which  the  Lamb  of 
God  hath  taken  away. 

ADOHATION. 

The  heart  is  the  noblest  part  of  human  nature, 
and  God  says,  "  My  son,  give  me  thine  heart." 
And,  just  as  the  aflfections  are  the  noblest  ingre- 
dient in  human  nature,  so  the  elevation  and  the 
happiness  of  a  human  being  mainly  depend  on 
the  right  bestowment  and  ample  exercise  of  these 
afTections.  To  be  self-sufficient  and  self-seeking 
— that  is,  to  keep  all  the  affecticms  to  one's  self 
— is  the  meanest  and  most  miserable  predicament 
a  creature  can  be  in.  The  homestead  of  a  finite 
spirit — much  more  the  desolate  chamber  of  a 
sinful  heart — does  not  contain  resources  enough 
for  its  own  blessedness.  The  soul  must  go  out 
from  itself  if  it  would  find  materials  of  joy.  It 
must  love  its  neighbour,  or  it  must  love  the  works 
of  God,  or  It  must  lOve  its  family,  or  its  circle  of 
friendship,  if  it  would  not  be  absolutely  dreary 


L  E  C  T  U  It  E     VII. 


121 


and  forlorn.  And  just  as  the  soul's  happiness 
depends  on  going  out  from  itself,  so  its  elevation 
depends  on  its  going  7fp— depends  on  its  setting 
its  aflections  on  something  higher  than  itself— 
something  nobler,  or  holier,  or  move  engaging. 

The  main  part  of  true  religion  is  the  right  be- 
stowment of  the  aflections.  When  these  are  set 
on  the  things  above — on  God  and  on  Jesus  who 
sitielh  at  God's  right  hand — they  are  set  as  high 
as  a  scrapli  can  "set  his.  They  are  set  so  high 
that  ihcy  cannot  fail  to  lift  the  character  along 
with  them,  and  make  his  a  peculiar  life  whose 
ends  in  living  are  so  lofty.  A  self-forgetting  de- 
votion to  some  noble  earthly  character  has  ex- 
erted a  rcfming  and  elevating  influence  on  many. 
Veneration  for  some  illustrious  sage  has  some- 
times quickened  a  sluggard  into  a  scholar,  and 
enthusiastic  attachment  to  a  high-souled  patriot 
has  been  known  to  kindle  up  an  idler  into  a  hero. 
Hut  iherc  is  only  One  of  character  so  lofty,  and 
of  influence  so  transforming,  that  love  to  Him 
will  convert  a  sinner  into  a  saint.  Such  a  One, 
however,  there  is,  and  it  is  the  business  of  the 
Gospel  to  make  Him  known. 

When  re(|uired  to  love  the  Lord  with  all  their 
heart  and  soul  and  strength  and  mind,  many  feel 
as  if  they  were  asked  to  perform  an  impossibility. 
So  vague,  in  general,  are  their  notions  of  the 
Great  Jehovah,  that  they  feel  much  the  same  as 
if  they  were  asked  to  love  the  principle  of  gravi- 
tation, or  as  if  they  were  bidden  bestow  all  their 
licart  and  mind  on  a  fixed  star,  or  as  if  they  were 
invited  to  lay  up  treasure  in  a  cloud,  or  told  to 
set  their  ^.flections  on  infinite  space.     I  appeal  to 

11 


122 


LECTURE     VII. 


yourselves,  Have  not  many  of  you  felt  something 
of  this  sort  ?  The  command^  "  Thou  shalt  love 
the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thine  heart,"  has  it 
not  often  fallen  on  your  ear  in  comfortless  tones, 
rather  as  the  funeral  knell  of  your  earthly  affec- 
tions than  as  the  joyous  summons  to  a  present 
and  attainable  blessedness  ?  Have  you  not  rather 
felt  it  as  a  command  to  kill  your  earthly  delights, 
than  as  an  invitation  to  superadd  a  delight  beyond 
them  all  ?  Have  you  not  felt  that  the  nearest 
approach  to  obedience  you  could  make  would  be 
to  cut  the  cords  that  bind  you  to  the  earth  in 
sunder,  and,  seeing  that  you  cannot  love  One  so 
utterly  beyond  your  conceptions,  that  you  had 
better  cease  to  love  altogether  ? 

This  is  the  tendency  of  some  books  and  sys- 
tems. To  love  an  abstract  and  impersonal  God 
is  Flatonism.  It  is  mysticism  ;  but  it  is  not 
Christianity.  The  God  whom  the  Gospel  bids 
us  view,  and  whom  Jesus  bade  us  love,  is  not  a 
distant  power  nor  a  dim  abstraction.  He  is  not 
a  mere  presence,  nor  a  mere  principle.  He  is 
not  the  most  vague  of  all  diffusions,  and  the  most 
general  of  all  general  laws.  But  he  is  "  the  liv- 
ing God  " — of  all  beings  the  most  truly  living — 
possessing,  in  intensest  measure,  all  that  is  truly 
excellent  and  which  has  won  our  veneration  in 
our  fellow-men ;  combining  in  himself  all  that 
goodness  which  has  ever  arrested,  or  affected,  or 
entranced  us  in  the  objects  of  our  earthly  admi- 
ration ;  not  only  wiser  than  the  wisest,  but  more 
loving  than  the  most  affectionate — taking  a  kinder 
and  wiser  interest  in  us  than  the  friend  to  whom, 
perhaps,  we  have  devoted  our  earthly  all,  and 


L  E  C  T  V  K  E     VII 


123 


more  present  with  us  than  the  most  anxious 
friend  can  be.  This  Living  God— possessing 
perfections  at  whose  outburst  the  eye  of  an  arch- 
anjrel  dazzles — possesses  also  that  power  of  spe- 
cial condescension  and  individual  interest  which 
can  make  him,  to  any  one,  most  truly  a  friend 
and  a  perfect  brother.  If  you  be  on  a  right  foot- 
ing with  Him — a  footing  of  friendship  and  loyalty 
— he  is  omnipotent  and  able  to  devote  the  same 
regard  to  all  your  interests  as  if  immensiiy  con- 
tained nothing  else  to  attract  his  notice.  He  is 
omniscient,  and  able  to  keep  you  more  constantly 
in  his  eye,  and  bear  you  more  continually  in  his 
loving  thoughts,  than  you  are  able  to  watch  over 
the  child,  or  to  think  of  the  friend,  that  is  dearest. 
And  though  he  be  a  consuming  fire — though 
there  be  that  in  his  holiness  which  is  burning 
antipathy  to  sin — ther*^  is  nothing  in  this  holiness 
to  hinder  the  humble  soul  from  reposing  on  his 
faithfulness  as  securely  as  meekest  brow  ever 
rested  on  the  fondest  father's  bosom.  In  the  only 
aspect  in  which  mortal  eye  can  view  him — in  the 
person  of  Immanuel — the  Living  God  draws  near 
and  says,  "  Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God 
with  all  thy  heart  and  with  all  thy  soul  and  with 
all  thy  strength  and  with  all  thy  mind."  Thou 
shalt  love — not  Fate — not  Providence — not  E  er 
nity — not  Immensity — not  Goodness — it  is  not 
even  said  the  Deity — but  "  Thou  shalt  love  the 
Lord  thy  God" — the  God  of  the  Bible — the  grea 
I  Am — the  Living  God — Jehovah — the  most  ma 
jestic  yet  most  loving  and  most  lovely  of  all  be- 
ings—thou shalt  love  the  Lord  with  all  thy  soul 
Love  Him  of  whom  the  earth  saw,  not  merely  t 


M--mSnk, 


LECTURE     VII 


living-,  but  an  incarnate,  specimen  in  the  person 
of  Jesus  Christ. 

Whatever  Platonisis  and  mystics  and  tran- 
scendentalists  may  pretend  to  the  contrary,  and 
whatever  a  theology,  tinctured  by  these  human 
notions,  may  daily  teach,  if  we  would  love  God 
at  ail,  we  must  look  to  the  God  of  the  Bible.  It 
may  be  difficult  to  love  the  "  Fi*st  Cause"  of  the 
philosophers,  or  the  Djvine  Essence  of  the 
schoolmen,  or  the  far-off  abstraction  of  the  mys-^ 
tics, — but  to  love  Immanuel,God  with  us,  surel* 

• 

this  is  possible.     By  the  door  of  the  incarnation 
to  gel  into  some  knowledge  of  God,  nnd  so  into 
some  love, — surely  this  is  possible.     To  perceive 
the   friendly  disposition  of  the  High  and  Holy 
One,    even    towards    our    wretched   and    guilty 
selves,  is  possible,  when  we  look  to  the  co-equal 
Son  pouring  out  his  blood  a  ransom  for  many. 
To  apprehend  his  gentle  and  benignant  bearing 
towards  his  own  is  easy  when  we  look  at  John 
on  the  bosom  of  Jesus — yes,  John  on  the  bo- 
som  of   God.       And   to  "see  how    much,   not 
only  of   awful    majesty   and    spotless   sanctity, 
but  how  nuich  of  genial  goodness  and  sweetest 
loveliness,   how  much  of  truest  tenderness  and 
heart-attractinfrgraciousness  there  was  in  the  Son 
of  Mary,  and  yet  doubt  whether  the  living  God 
be  worthy  of  our  love  ;  dear  brethren,  which  of 
you    will   answer, — This   is  possible  ?     "  That 
which  was  from  the  beginning,  which  we  have 
heard,  which  we  have  seen  with  our  eyes,  which 
we  have  looked  upon,  and  cur  hands  have  hand- 
led of  the  Word  of  Life,  (for  the  life — the  Living 
One — was  manifested,  and  we  have  seen  him,' 


LECTURE     VII. 


125 


that  whicn  we  have  seen  and  heard  declarr  we 
unto  you,  that  ye  also  may  have  fellowship  with 
us,  and  truly  our  fellowship  is  with  the  Faihcr, 
and  with  his  Son  Jesus  Christ.  And  these 
things  write  we  unto  you,  that  your  joy  may  bf» 

full." 

It  is  a  simple  truth,— but  oh  !  that  its  starry 
letters  sparkled  in  every  eye,— would  that  its 
daily  echo  haunted  every  ear.  The  Incarnation 
is  as  truly  our  door  of  entrance  into  all  true 
knowledo-e  of  God  as  the  Atonement  is  our  pass- 
port to  heaven.  The  living  person  of  Jesus  is 
our  theoloiry  as  truly  as  the  finished  work  of 
Jesus  is  our  righteousness.  We  can  reach  no 
heaven  except  that  which  Immanuel  bought  for 
us,  and  we  can  know  nothing  of  God  except  that 
which  Immanuel  is  to  us.  But  all  that  Imman- 
uel was  or  is,  all  this  the  ever-blessed  Godhead 
is  ;  and  ours  is  New-Testament  divinity  and  ours 
is  Christian  worship,  when  in  Jesus  Christ  we 
recognize  "  The  Alpha  and  Omega,  the  begin- 
ning""  and  the  ending,  which  is,  and  which  was, 
and^'which  is  to  come,  the  Almighty." 

And  having  discovered,— so  far  as  finite  pow- 
ers and  this  dim  world  admit  of,— what  the  true 
God  really  is,  cultivate  each  reverent  and  trustful 
and  admiring  disposition  toward  him.  Study  his 
perfections  on  very  purpose  to  enkindle  praise, 
nnd  when  any  fair  scene  in  creation  makes 
your  heart  right  glad,  or  when  any  marvellous 
event  in  Providence  solemnizes  your  spirit,  let 
the  thought  of  the  Omnipotent  creator  and  ruler 
convert  it  into  present  adoration.  In  the  various 
revolutions  of  vour  vvorldly  lot,  and  the  changeful 
11* 


126 


LECTURE    VII. 


moods  of  feeling,  let  the  recollection  of  the  DiviD 
perfections  and  recourse  to  the  living  God,  be  the 
instant  asylum  of  your  soul.     Are  you  weary 
with  the  world's  boisterousness — with  the  rouc^h 
and  high-handed  ways  of  ungodly  men  ?     Seek 
the   calm   sanctuary   of    God's   own   presence, 
"  Though  a  host  encamp  against  me,  one  thing 
have  I  desired  of  the -Lord— that  will  I  seek 
after  ;  that  I  may  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord 
all  the  days  of  my  life,  to  behold  the  beauty  of 
the  Lord,  and  to  inquire  in  his  temple.     For  in 
the  time  of  trouble  he  shall  hide  me  in  his  pa- 
vilion ;   in  the  secret  of  his  tent  shall  he  hide 
me."     Are  you  damped  by  the  disappointment 
of  some  hope,  or  the  downfall  of  some  joy  which 
you  have  long  been  rearing  ?     Think  of  the  per- 
manence of  God  and  the  perpetuity  of  those  joys 
which  are  at  his  own  right  hand,  and  in  which 
lie  himself  is  part ;  and  learn  to  build  your  bless- 
edness on  the  Rock  of  Ages.     Are  you  shut  out 
from  engagements  which  once  were  very  sweet 
—society,  recreations,  and  pursuits,  in  which  you 
could  indulge  without  satiety,  and  with  ever- 
growing zest  ?    Learn  to  live  upon  God,  and  like 
the  prisoner  of  the  Lord  who  beguiled  her  ten 
years'  captivity  with  psalms,  and  who  declares 
that  the  heavenly  society  of  her  cell  made  *'  it4 
ftones  look  like  rubies,"*  try  to  sing : 

How  pleasant  is  all  that  I  meet, 

From  fear  of  adveraitv  free, 
I  find  every  sorrow  made  sweet, 

Because  'tis  assigned  me  by  thee. 

*  Madame  Guioo. 


LECTURE     VII 


127 


Thy  will  is  the  treasure  I  seek. 
For  thou  art  as  faithful  as  strong ; 

There  let  me,  obedient  and  meek. 
Repose  myself  all  the  day  long. 

My  spirit  and  faculties  fail ; 

Oh  !  finish  what  lovo  has  begun. 
Destroy  what  is  sinful  and  frail, 

And  dwell  in  the  soul  thou  hast  won. 

Oh,  glory  !  in  which  I  am  lost, 

Too  deep  for  the  plummet  of  thought 

On  an  ocean  of  Deity  toss'd, 

I  am  swallow'd,  I  sink  into  nought 

Yet  lost  and  absorbed  as  I  seem, 
I  chant  to  the  praise  of  my  King ; 

And  though  overwhelmed  by  the  thought. 
Am  happy  whenever  I  sing. 

Do  you  grieve  for  the  fickleness  of  man  and 
mourn  over  friendships  which  have  dried  like 
summer-brooks  ?  If  the  fault  be  not  yom  owUf 
think  of  the  unchanging  friend  whose  mercy  is 
in  the  heavens  and  whose  kindness  is  unaffected 
by  the  influences  which  make  such  havoc  in  the 
affections  of  earth.  Do  you  feel  the  flesh  fading? 
Then  say,  **  Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee  ? 
and  there  is  none  upon  earth  that  I  desire  beside 
thee.  My  flesh  and  my  heart  faileth ;  but  God 
is  the  strength  of  my  heart  and  my  portion  for 
Gvet "  Do  you  begin  to  wonder  what  is  to  be- 
come of  your  own  mouldered  dust  and  that  of 
many  dear  to  you,  when  long  ages  have  slipped 
away  and  the  inscription  on  your  tomb  is  a  dead 
language  ?  Do  not  err,  forgetting  the  Scriptures. 
Think  of  the  great  power  of  God.  Remembei 
who  hath  said,  "  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the 


i28 


LECTURE   VII. 


Life  ;  he  that  belie veth  m  me,  though  he  were 
dead,  yet  shall  he  live."  And  thus,  whatever  be 
the  grief,  the  vacancy,  or  fear,  learn  to  find  the 
antidote  in  God. 


THANKSGIVING. 

Adoration  is  devout  meditation  on  what  Jeho- 
vah M, — the  praise  of  the  divine  perfections. 
Thanksgiving  is  delighted  meditation  on  what  the 
Lord  has  doiie  for  us  or  others — praise  for  his 
mercies.  Such  praise  is  "  comely."  Just  as 
there  is  meanness  in  constant  murmuring,  so 
there  is  a  gracefulness  and  majesty  in  habitual 
gratitude.  And  it  is  '•  pleasant."  It  is  not  the 
full  purse  or  the  easy  calling,  but  the  full  heart, 
the  praising  disposition,  which  makes  the  blessed 
life;  and  of  all  personal  gifts  that  man  has  got 
the  best  who  has  received  the  quick-discerning 
eye,  the  promptly-joyful  soul,  the  ever-praising 
spirit. 

And,  my  dear  friends,  in  searching  for  the  ma- 
terials  of  gratitude,  you  have  not  far  to  go.  If 
you  ha\e  a  lawful  pursuit — a  business  to  which, 
with  a  clear  conscienc*;,  you  can  devote  your  en- 
ergy— and  a  possession  which  raises  you  above 
the  woes  of  penury;  if  you  have  contentment 
within,  and  affeclion  around,  you  are  a  wealthy 
and  a  favoured  man.  Your  daily  lot  may  well 
be  your  daily  wonder ;  and  when  other  texts  are 
pxhausted  you  may  find  a  theme  for  thanksgiv- 
ing in  your  very  home — a  Hosannah  in  the 
blazing  hearth  and  a  JuMkUe  in  each  joyful 
voice  and  merry  scund  that  echoes  through  your 


i 


LECTURE     VII 


129 


' 


dwelling.  But  there  are  signal  mercies,  memo- 
rable interpositions  and  marvellous  deliverances, 
which  should  be  signalized  by  memorable  thanks- 
givings. Remarkable  interpositions  are  rare,  but 
that  life  is  rarer  in  which  there  has  been  no  re- 
markable rescue ;  no  signal  interposition  of 
Providence.  Just  see.  Is  there  any  one  here 
present  whose  life  has  moved  so  smoothly  that  no 
accident  ever  endangered  it,  and  that  he  cannot 
quote  the  time  when  there  was  but  a  hair-breadth 
betwixt  him  and  death  ?  The  boat  was  upset, 
but  you  were  saved.  You  intended  going  by  the 
vessel  that  foundered  at  sea,  but  were  unaccount- 
ably hindered.  You  passed  aloner,  and  three 
seconds  afterwards  the  tottering  wall  crashed 
down.  You  still  preserve  the  hat  that  was 
grazed  by  the  bullet,  or  the  book  that  received  the 
shot  instead  of  yourself.  And  how  did  you  feel 
at  the  time  ?  When  you  fell  from  the  precipice, 
or  were  thrown  headlong  from  your  startled 
steed,  and  rose  uninjured,  did  all  your  bones  say, 
Who  is  like  unto  thee,  0  Lord  ?  When  you 
just  escaped  the  fatal  missile,  was  gratitude  to 
your  gracious  Preserver  your  first  emotion,  or  did 
you  merely  thank  your  stars  and  congratulate 
yourself  on  your  singular  luck?  And  when  the 
active  arm  sfived  you  from  drowning,  or  from 
being  crashed  to  death  in  the  crossing,  when  de- 
posited on  the  place  of  safety  you  were  pale,  or 
you  laughed  wildly,  or  you  clung  to  the  arm  of 
your  deliverer,  for  the  danger  was  dreadful ;  but 
have  you  since  praised  the  Lord  for /^^5  goodness, 
and  for  his  wonderful  work  in  saving  you 
then  ?     And  do  you  adoringly  remember  it  still  ? 


130 


L  E  C  T  U  1  E    V  11 . 


"  Wliuso  is  \v.se,  and  will  observe  these  things, 
even  they  shall  understand  the  loving^-kindnesa 
of  the  Lord." 

Then,  farther,  there  are  moral  perplexities  and 
painful  dilemmas;  times  of  heart-trouble  and 
fearful  foreboding,  followed  by  times  for  thanks- 
giving. "  I  love  the  Lord  because  he  hath  heard 
my  voice  and  my  supplications.  The  sorrows  of 
death  compassed  me,  and  the  pains  of  hell  gat 
hold  upon  me:  I  found  trouble  and  sorrow. 
Then  called  I  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord ;  0 
Lord,  I  beseech  thee,  deliver  my  soul.  Gracious 
is  the  Lord  and  righteous  ;  yea,  our  God  is  mer- 
ciful. I  was  brought  low,  and  he  helped  me. 
Return  unto  thy  rest,  O  my  soul,  for  the  Lord 
hath  dealt  bountifully  with  thee.  For  thou  hast 
delivered  my  soul  from  death,  mine  eyes  from 
tears,  and  my  feet  from  falling."  You  were  in 
some  desperate  crisis  of  your  history,  and  unless 
the  Lord  had  made  bare  his  mighty  arm  you  saw 
nothing  for  it  but  disaster,  confusion,  and  dis- 
grace. But  in  that  vale  of  Achor  the  Lord 
opened  a  door  of  hope.  He  raised  up  friends  un- 
looked-for, or  sent  supplies  unhoped-for,  and  step 
V  step  he  opened  up  a  gentle  path,  till  you 
found  yourself  in  a  large  place,  and  at  gladsome 
liberty.  And  "  what  shall  I  render  unto  thee,  0 
Lord,  for  all  his  benefits  toward  me  ?  I  will  take 
the  cup  of  salvation,  and  call  upon  the  name  of 
the  Lord.  I  will  pay  my  vows  unto  the  Lord 
now,  in  the  presence  of  all  his  people.  I  will 
offer  to  thee  the  sacrifice  of  thanksgiving,  and 
will  call  upon  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

And  the  crowning  mercies— the  sweetest  and 


LECTURE     VII. 


ira 


I 


I. 


! 


the  surest — the  most  precious  and  most  lasting- 
have  you  tasted  spiritual  mercies  ?  "  Then  blessed 
be   the    God    and    Father   of    our    Lord   Jesus 
Christ,  who  hath  blessed  us  with  all   spiritual 
blessings  in  Christ :  according  as  he  hath  chosen 
us  in  him  before  the  foundation  of  the  world,  that 
we  should  be  holy  and  without  blame  before  him 
in   love."     Have   you   heard    of  the    Saviour? 
Then  "  Thanks  be  to  God  for  his  unspeakable 
pft."      Have    you   found   the    pardon   of    sin? 
Then  "  Bless  the  Lord,  0  my  soul,  and  forget 
not  all  his  benefits,  who  forgiveth  all  thine  iniqui- 
ties ;  who  as  far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west,  so 
far  hath  removed  my  transgressions  from  me.'* 
Have  you  the  lively  hope  to  light  you  on  youT 
way  through  life  ?     "  Then  blessed  be  the  God 
and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  ac- 
cording to  his  abundant  mercy  hath  begotten  me 
again  unto  a  lively  hope  by  the  resurrection  of 
Jesus  Christ  from  the  dead,  to  an  inheritance  in- 
corruptible, reserved  in  heaven  for  me."     Have 
you  found  the  promises  fulfilled  ?     **  Blessed  be 
the  Lord  that  hath  given  rest  unto  his  people,  ac- 
cording to  all  that  he  promised.     There  hath  not 
failed  one  word  of  all  his  good  promise."     Have 
you  received  an  answer  to  your  prayers  ?     "I 
will  praise  thee,  for  thou  hast  heard  rne,  and  art 
become  my  salvation.     I  called  upon  the  Lord  in 
distress :  the  Lord  answered  me  and  set  me  in  a 
large  place.     0  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord,  for  he 
is  good  :  for  his  mercy  endureth  for  ever."     It  is 
written  of  that  seraphic  Christian,  Joseph  Al- 
leine,  "  Love  and  joy  and  a  heavenly  mind  were 
the  internal  part  of  his  religion,  and  the  large  and 


ltJ<6 


LECTURE     VII. 


fervent  praises  of  God  and  thanksgiving  for  iiis 
mercies,  especially  for  Christ,  and  the  Spirit, 
and  Heaven,  were  the  external  exercises  of  it. 
He  was  not  necfligent  in  confessing  sin,  but  praise 
and  thanks^iriving-  were  his  natural  strains  ;  his 
longest,  most  frequent,  and  hearty  services.  He 
was  no  (le<pispr  of  a  broken  heart,  but  he  had  at- 
tained the  lilessing  of  a  healed  and  joyfui  heart." 

And  this  is  indeed  the  most  blessed    life, the 

most   uplifted— the   most   impressive,  and  most 
heavenly.     The  Lord  wills  liis  people  to  be  hap- 
py.    He  ha>  proviilod  strong  consolation  for  them, 
and  he  desires  that  their  enraptured  praises  and 
joyful    lives   should    spenlv-    /vood    of  his  name. 
Dear  brethren,  aspire  at  habitual  thankfulness. 
Covet  earnestly  a  life  of  prevailing  cheerfulness 
and  praise.     Seek  to  have  your  souls  often  brim- 
ming over  with  holy  gladness.     Bring  them  into 
broad  contact  with  every  happy  thing   around 
you— not  with  every  mad  and  foolish  thing— but 
with  everything  on   which    God's   countenance 
shines,  and  in  which  his  joy-awakening  Spirit 
stirs.     Kejoice  with  a  rejoicing  universe.     Re- 
joice with  the  morning  stars,  and  let  your  ador- 
ing spirit  march  to  the  music  of  the  hymning 
spheres.     Rejoice  with  the  jocund  spring  in  its 
gush  of  hope  and  its   dancing  glory— with   its 
swinging  insect-clouds,  and  its  suffusion  of  mul- 
Utudinous  song— and  rejoice  with  golden  autumn 
as  he  rustles  his  grateful  sheaves,  and  claps  his 
purple  hands,  as  he  breathes  his  story  of  fruition, 
his  anthem  of  promises  fulfilled— as 'he  breathes 
It  softly  m  the  morning  stillness  of  ripened  fields, 
or  flmgs  It  in  iEolian  sweeps  from  lavish  orchards 


LECTURE     VII. 


133 


and  branches  tossing  bounty  into  mellow  winds. 
Rejoice  with  infancy  as  it  guesses  its  wondering 
way  into  more  and  more  existence,  and  laughs 
and  carols  as  the  field  of  pleasant  life  enlarges  on 
it,  and  new  secrets  of  delight  flow  in  through 
fresh  and  open  senses.     Rejoice  with  the  second 
youth  of  the  heaven-born  soul — as  the  revelations 
of  a  second  birth  pour  in  upon  it,  and  the  glories  of 
a  new  world  amaze  it.     Rejoice  with  the  joyful 
believer  when  he  sings  "  0  Lord,  I  will  praise 
thee  :  thougli  thou  wast  angry  with  me,  thine 
anger  is  turned  away  and  thou  comfortest  me. 
Behold   God    is   my   salvation."     Rejoice   with 
him  whose  incredulous  ecstasy  has  alighted  on 
the  great  Gospel-secret— whose  eye  is  beaming 
as  none  can  beam  save  that  which  for  the  first 
time  beholds  the  Lamb— whose  awe-struck  coun- 
tenance  and   uplifted   hands  are    evidently    ex- 
claiming, "  This  is  my  beloved,  and  this 'is  my 
friend."     Rejoice  with  saints  and  angels,  as  they 
rejoice  in  a  sight  like  this.     Rejoice  with  Im- 
manuel,  u'hose  soul  now  sees  of  its  travail.     Re- 
joice with  the  ever-blessed  Vhree,  and  with  a 
heaven  whose   work   is  joy.     Be   glad  in   the 
Lord,  and  rejoice,  ye  righteous  ;  and  shout  foi 
joy,  all  ye  that  are  upright  in  heart. 


LECTURE  VIH. 


BIBLE    INSTANCES. 


••The  eflectual  fervent  prayer  of  a  rrghteous  man 
availeth  much." — James  v   16. 

Some  have  no  turn  for  poetry,  and  others  have 
no  taste  for  science.  Many  have  no  aptitude  for 
argument  and  dissertation,  and  no  comprehension 
for  abstract  statement.  But  almost  all  men  have 
an  avidi-iy  for  history.  And  what  is  history  ?  It 
is  truth  alive  and  actual — truth  embodied — truth 
clothed  in  our  kindred  clay.  It  is  knowledge, 
not  afloat  on  the  mist-bounded  sea — the  shoreless 
abyss  of  speculation-but  knowledge  coaslin-  it 
in  sight  of  the  familiar  landmarks  of  time  and 
place  ;  knowledge  anchored  to  this  human  heart, 
and  coming  ashore  on  this  our  every-day  exist- 
ence. It  is  the  maxim  of  the  book  made  inter- 
esting->the  lesson  of  the  pulpit  or  the  desk  made 
simple  and  delightful,  by  being  read  anew  in 
living  men.  It  is  the  grace  made  lovelier,  and 
the  attainment  made  more  hopeful,  by  its  exhibi- 
tion in  men  of  like  passions  and  like  affections 
with  ourselves.  The  human  spirit  craves  for 
history,  and  the  Bible  meets  this  craving.  The 
half  of  it  is  history ;  and  we  shall  devote  this 
morning  to  some  names  of  prayerful  renown- 
Bible  instances,  and  their  modem  parallels. 


LECTURE     VIII 


135 


•  u  r^        ^^^^  ^^'^  ^^^^^  ^^  Enoch.     He  walked 
with  God.     The  conception  we  form  of  him,  from 
what  the  Bible  tells  us,  is,  that  his  was  a  life  of 
delightful  communion  and  constant  devotion.     He 
had  discovered  the  living  God,  and,  from  the 
mcment  of  that  discovery,  could  date  his  blessed 
life.     So   correct  was  his   view  of  the    Divine 
character,  that  he  was  irresistibly  drawn  toward 
It  in  confidence  and   love.     So  vivid  was  that 
view  that  he  never  forgot  it,  and  so  influential 
that  It  completely  altered  him.     He   "came  to 
God  ;'^'  "  he  walked  with  God ;"  and  "  he  pleased 
God.|'     "  Every  sacred  engagement  was  perform- 
ed with  a  holy  alacrity.     Every  call  to  worship 
w^elcomed  as  it  came,  from  its  inviting  him  to 
contact  with  '  the  Father  of  Spirits.'     Every  ex- 
cursion of  sanctified  thought — every  emotion  of 
virtuous  feeling— was  sustained  and  encouraged, 
m  anticipation  of  this    intercourse,    or   as    the 
result  of  its  enjoyment.     '  God  was   in  all  his 
thoughts.'     If  he  looked  upon  the  heavens,  he 
was  there;  if  he  contemplated  the  earth,  he  was 
there  ;  if  he  retired  into  his  own  bosom,  he  was 
there.     He  felt  his  presence  pressing,  as  it  were, 
upon  his  senses.     It  was  the  congenial  element 
of  his  moral  being— the  atmosphere  in  which  his 
spirit  was  refreshed.     There  was  no  terror  to 
Mm  in  the  great  and  holy  name ;  he  felt  no  tumul- 
tuary agitation,  because  '  God  had  beset  him  be- 
hind and  before,  encompassing  all   his   ways.' 
The  recollection  of  this  was  rather  a  source  of 
sacred  and  animated  pleasure ;  it  invested  every- 
thing with  a  new  property ;    it  disclosed  to  him 
the  spiritual  essence  that  pervades  the  universe; 


136 


LECTURE     VIII. 


and  thus  gave  him  ever  to  feel  as  within  the  cir- 
cle of  the  siil)limest  satisfactions."* 

And  so,  my  friends,  do  you  seek  Enoch's  in- 
troduction to  the  living  God.  Go  to  him,  as 
Enoch  went,  believing  that  he  is,  and  that  he  is 
accessible.t  And  seek  to  get  into  the  same  just 
and  realizing  knowledge  of  him  that  Enoch  got. 
He  is  revealed  to  you  more  amply,  perhaps,  than 
he  was  to  Enoch.  Believe.  Believe  that'  he  is 
not  afar  off,  but  nigh.  Believe  that  he  is  not 
hostile,  but  propitious.  Believe  that  he  is  all  that 
Jesus  said — that  he  is  all  that  Jesus  was — and, 
believing  this,  walk  with  him.  Admit  him  into 
your  home,  that  he  may  hallow  it.  Admit  him 
into  your  hourly  occupations,  that  he  may  elevate 
and  expedite  them.  Admit  him  into  your  happy 
moments,  that  he  may  enhance  them ;  and  into 
your  hours  of  anguish,  that  his  presence  may 
tranquillize  and  transform  them.  Let  his  recol- 
lected presence  be  the  brightness  of  every  land- 
scape— the  zest  of  every  pleasure — the  energy 
for  every  undertaking — ^the  refuge  from  every 
danger — the  solace  in  every  sorrow — the  asylum 
of  your  hidden  life,  and  the  constant  Sabbath  of 
your  soul.  Learn — with  all  reverence  for  his 
greatness,  but  with  equal  reliance  on  his  good- 
ness-learn  to  make  the  eye  that  never  slumbers 
the  companion  of  your  nights  and  mornings ;  and 
the  ear  that  never  wearies — make  it  the  confidant 
of  your  weakness,  your  solicitude,  your  ecstasy, 
And  woe.  Learn  to  have  not  one  life  for  God  and 
mother  for  the  world :  but  let  your  earthly  hfo 

•  Bititiev  on  Hebrews  xi..   ip.  89,  QO      f  Heb.  xi.  6. 


I 


LECTURE     VIII. 


137 


be  divinely  directed  and  divinely  quickened— let 
every  footstep  be  a  walk  with  God. 

2.  There  was  no  prophet  in  Israel  like  unto 
Moses,  whom  the  Lord  knew  face  to  face;  and, 
like  all  the  conspicuous  characters  of  Scripture, 
Moses  was  a  man  of  prayer.     He,  too,  had  been 
introduced  into  a  peculiar  acquaintance  with  the 
living  God,  and,  from  the  memorable  interview 
at  the  burning  bush,  there  always  rested  on  him 
an  impress  of  that  high  fellowship  to  which  he 
had  been  admitted.     It  was  not  only  when  the 
brightness  of  some  recent  interview  lit  up  his 
countenance  with  new  and  painful  glory ;  but,  on 
his  habitual  look  there  lingered  that  blended  be- 
nignity and  majesty  which,  once  seen  in  the  as- 
pect of  Jehovah,  its  memorial  might  always  be 
seen  in  himself.     The  Lord  had  heard  Moses' 
prayer;*  and,  if  he  had  not  shown  him  all  his 
glory,  he  had  at  least  made  all  his  goodness  pass 
before  him ;  and  from  that  moment  when,  hidden 
in  the  mountain-cleft,  the  cloud  swept  over  him, 
and  the  pulses  of  encircling  power  and  sanctity 
thrilled  through  him,  no  conviction  lodged  deeper 
in  Moses'  mind,  and  no  element  of  influence  told 
more   constantly  on  Moses'  character,  than  the 
assurance  that  "  the  Lord  is  merciful  and  gracious, 
long-sufTering,  and   abundant   in   goodness  and 
truth."     The  secret  of  the  Lord  was  with  him; 
and  surely  it  is  important  to  know  how  one  who 
knew  the  Lord's  mind  so  well,  and  with  whom 
the  Lord  so  spake,  face  to  face — how  such  a  one 
was  wont  to  pray.     And  I  think  you  will  notice 
these  things  in  Moses'  prayers: — (1.)  A  hopeful" 

*  Exodus  xxxiii.  18. 


138 


LECTUEl    VUI. 


ness  which  feh  that  no  inoinern  was  loo  lale,  nor 
any  depth  of  m'serv'  too  profound,  for  prayer. 
When  brought  to  a  stand-still  on  the  Red  *Sea 
shore— when  almost  poisoned  by  the  waters  of 
Marah — when  like  to  be  swallowed  up  by  the 
fierceness  of  Ainaiek — it  was  all  the  same,  piloses 
had  instant  recourse  to  the  arm  of  Jehovah,  and 
that  arm  brought  salvation.  And,  in  a  case  more 
daunting  still — when  successive  sins  had  made 
the  people  outlaws  from  the  covenant  and  its 
mercies — when  they  erected  the  s^olden  calf — 
when  Korah  and  his  company  rebelled — when 
Miriam  was  struck  with  leprosy — when  the  fire 
of  God  was  sweeping  through  the  camp — when 
the  burning  serpents  were  darting  death  and  con- 
sternation on  every  side — these  rapid  plagues, 
the  wickedness  of  the  people,  and  their  wild  dis- 
may, which  would  have  made  another  leader 
"  faint,"  only  made  Moses  pray.  He  recollected 
"  the  Lord  merciful  and  gracious,  forgiving  ini- 
quity, transgression,  and  sin ;"  and,  when  other 
hearts  were  sinking,  he  still  could  "  hope  in  God's 
mercy,"  and  his  hopeful  prayers  were  ever  pro- 
curing fresh  forgiveness.  (2.)  And,  besides  this 
expectancy  of  mercy — this  confidence  of  being 
heard — you  may  notice  a  holy  urgency  in  Moses* 
prayers.  How  he  pleads  with  God  !  How  firm 
he  takes  his  stand  on  the  Divine  perfections  and 
the  special  promises,  and  with  what  security  he 
argues  from  them !  "  Lord,  why  doth  thy  wrath 
wax  hot  against  thy  people,  which  thou  hast 
brought  forth  out  of  the  land  of  Egypt  with  great 
power,  and  with  a  mighty  hand?  Wherefore 
•hould  the  Egyptians  speak  and  say  *  For  mis* 


LECTURE     VIII. 


139 


chief  did  he  bring  them  out,  to  slay  them  in  the 
mountains,  and  to  consume  them  from  the  face 
of  the  earth?'     Turn  from  thy  fierce  wrath,  and 
repent  of  this  evil  against  thy  people.     Remember 
Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Israel,  thy  servants,  to  whom 
thou  swarest  by  thine  own  self,  and  saidst  unto 
them,  '  I  will  multiply  your  seed,  as  the  stars  of 
heaven,  and  all  this  land  that  I  have  spoken  of 
will  I  give  unto  your  seed  and  they  shall  inherit 
it  for  ever.*         And  that  other  time,  when  th« 
Lord  threatened  to  annihilate  the  murmuring 
people—"  And  now,  I  beseech  thee,  let  the  power 
of  my  Lord  be  great,  according  as  thou  hast  spo- 
ken, saying,  '  The  Lord  is  long-suffering  and  of 
great  mercy,  forgiving  iniquity  and  transgression, 
and  by  no  means  clearing  the  guilty.'     Pardon, 
I  beseech  thee,  the  iniquity  of  this  people,  accord- 
ing unto  the  greatness  of  thy  mercy,  and  as  thou 
hast  forgiven  this  people,  from  Efifypt  even 'until 
now.'     And   the  Lord  said,  '  I  have  pardoned, 
according  to  thy  word.'  "t 

From  Moses,  learn  to  pray  and  never  faint. 
However  awful  the  exigency,  however  near  the 
destruction,  and  however  abused  past  mercy  may 
have  been,  still  resort  to  him  whose  power  is 
beyond  all  exigencies,  and  whose  pity  is  more 
prompt  than  our  repentance.  And,  from  Moses, 
learn  to  glorify  God,  by  pleading  in  prayer  his 
perfections  and  his  promises.  That  prayer  will 
fcring  an  absolute  answer,  which  has  for  its  found- 
ation the  Lord's  absolute  assurance ;  and,  in  the 
absence  of  a  positive  promise,  that  prayer  will  pro- 
cure some  mitigation  or  some  mercy,  which  makes 


•  Exod.  xxKiL 


t  Num.  xiv.  17—30. 


140 


LECTURE    VIII. 


cordial  mention  of  the  Lord's  goodness  and  lor* 
mg-kindness.  Remember  the  word  unto  thy  ser- 
vant, upon  which  thou  hast  caused  me  to  hope. 

3.  Passing  on  to  the  "  man  after  God's  own 
heart,"  we  find,  of  human  models,  the  most  per- 
fect specimen  of  prayer.  It  is  not  so  much  the 
frequency  of  his  devotional  exercises,  though 
these  were  seven  times  a  day ;  nor  the  memora- 
ble returns  which  these  prayers  procured,  for  the 
prayers  of  Elijah  and  others  may  have  brought 
about  more  miraculous  results — may  have  drawn 
down,  in  the  world's  eye,  more  stupendous  re- 
turns ;  but  it  is  that  David  was  so  signally  a  man 
of  prayer,  and  that  his  prayers,  in  themselves  are 
so  pre-eminent.  He  prayed  without  ceasing,  and 
with  all  prayer,  in  everything  making  known  his 
requests,  and  in  everything  giving  thanks.  Tak- 
ing possession  of  his  new  house,  or  retreating 
from  it — on  the  eve  of  battle  and  in  the  flush  of 
victory — among  the  sheep-cotes  and  in  the  moun- 
tain pass — on  the  tented  field  and  in  the  trading 
town — in  the  shepherd's  hut  and  on  the  mon- 
arch's throne — in  the  full  height  of  spiritual  joy 
and  in  the  depths  of  guilty  misery— we  find  him 
still  the  man  of  prayer.  And  these  prayers  have 
in  them  everything  that  enters  into  our  idea  of 
what  prayer  should  be.  David's  was  the  darting 
eye  that  could  catch  upon  the  wing  the  fleetest 
of  nature's  phantoms  and  the  swiftest  flights  of 
man's  imaginings ;  and  the  divining  eye  that 
could  detect  the  passion  ere  it  mantled  on  Doeg's 
swarthy  cheek,  or  read  the  cunning  scheme  ere 
it  glanced  from  under  AchithopheJ's  polished 
brow.     And  his  own  soul  was  the  well-tuned 


L  E  C  T  U  R  K     VI     1  . 


141 


harp  on  which,  from  the  deep  notes  of  dull  and 
doubtful  feelmg  up  to  the  shrillest  tones  of  ecsta- 
tic bliss  or  woe,  the  diapason  sounded  the  fill 
compass  of  all  the  emotions  which  this  harp  of 
thousand  strings  is  able  to  express.  And  whilst 
his  soul  was  thus  susceptible  and  his  eye  thus 
quick,  in  his  hand  he  held  a  poet's  pen,  and 
could  transfer  into  equal  words  each  intuition  of 
his  ranging  eye  and  each  aspiration  of  his  yearn- 
ing hea°rt.  And  when  you  recollect  that  all  this 
glowing  fancy  and  earnest  feeling  and  creative 
diction  were  the  clothing  of  a  spirit  to  which  Je- 
hovah was  the  chiefest  joy — by  which  the  living 
God  was  known  and  loved,  adored  and  trusied— 
you  can  see  how  the  Book  of  Psalms  must  ever 
be  the  best  manual  of  devotion. 

(I.)  From  David,  learn  in  everything  to  pray. 
Learn  to  ask  God's  blessing  on  little  things  as 
well  as  great.  There  is  nothing  which  it  is  right 
for  us  to  do,  but  it  is  also  right  to  ask  that  God 
would  bless  it ;  and,  indeed,  there  is  nothing  so 
little  but  the  frown  of  God  can  convert  it  into  the 
most  sad  calamity,  or  his  smile  exalt  it  into  a 
most  memorable  mercy  ;  and  there  is  nothing  we 
can  do  but  its  complexion  for  weal  or  woe  de- 
pends entirely  on  what  the  Lord  will  make  it. 
It  is  said  of  Matthew  Henry,  that  '*  no  journey 
was  undertaken,  nor  any  subject  or  course  of 
sermons  entered  upon  ;  no  book  committed  to  the 
press,  nor  any  trouble  apprehended  or  felt,  with- 
out a  particular  application  to  the  mercy-seat  for 
direction,  assistance,  and  success."*^  And,  on  a 
studying  day,  he  writes,  "  I  forgot  explicitly  and 

•  Life,  by  Sir  J.  B.  Williams,  p.  211. 


142 


LECTT/RE     VIII. 


especially  when  I  began  to  crave  help  of  God, 
and  the  chariot-wheels  drove  accordingly."*     It 
i^  recorded  of  Cornelius  Winter,  that  he  seldom 
opened  a  book,  even  on  general  subjects,  without 
a  moment's  prayer.t     The  late   Bishop  Heber 
on  each  new  incident  of  his  history,  or  on  the 
eve  of  any  undertaking,  used  to  compose  a  briei 
Latin  prayer,  imploring  special  help  and  guid- 
ance.    No  doubt  such  a  prayer  preceded  the  com- 
position of  his  famous  poem,  "  Palestine."     At 
least,  after  it  had  gained  the  prize,  and  been  read 
m  the  ears  of  applauding  Oxford,  when  the  assem- 
bly dismissed,  the  successful  scholar  could  no- 
where be  found,  till  some  one  discovered  him  on 
his  knees  thanking  God  who  had  given  him  the 
power  to  produce  that  poem,  and  who  had  spared 
his  parents  to  witness  and  share  his  joy.t     A 
late  physician  of  great  celebrity  used  to  ascribe 
much  of  his  success  to  three  maxims  of  his  fa- 
ther, the  last  and  best  of  which  was,  "  Always 
pray  for  your  patients."^ 

(2.)  From  David,  learn  to  give  thanks  in  every- 
thing. ''  Every  furrow  in  the  Book  of  Psalms 
IS  sown  with  seeds  of  thanksgiving."!!  Many  of 
the  Psalms  are  songs  of  vigorous  and  continuous 
praise  :  "  O  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord!"  and 
others  which  begin  with  grief  and  confession  and 
complaint,  presently  slide  into  gratitude.  Praise 
i«  the  believer's  seemliest  attire ;  and  those  hav© 

•  Tong'8  Life  of  Henry,  p.  60. 
t  Jay's  Life  of  Winter,  p.  256. 

I  Life  of  Heber,  quarto,  vol.  i.,  p.  33. 
6  Memoir  of  James  Hope,  M.D.,  p.  5L 

II  Jeremy  Taylor 


LECTURE     VIII. 


143 


been  the  most  attractive  Christians  whose  every- 
day adorning  was  the  "  garment  of  praise."    It 
is  mentioned  of  the  famous  Moravian,  Count  Zin- 
zendorf,  that  "  in  his  very  aspect  might  be  dis- 
cerned the  blessedness  of  a  heart  sprinkled  from 
an  evil  conscience  with  the  blood  of  the  Lamb." 
•*  He  looked  for  nothing  but  good  from  the  Lord, 
in  whom   he  delighted;    and   every  subject  of 
thankfulness,  however   inconsiderable   it   might 
seem  to  others,  was  important  and  interesting  to 
him."=^     "  I  am  surrounded  with  goodness,  and 
scarcely  a  day  passes  over  my  head  but  I  say, 
*  Were  it  not  for  an  ungrateful  heart  I  should  be 
the  happiest  man   alive  ;'  and  that  excepted,  I 
neither  expect   nor  wish    to  be  happier  in  this 
world.     My  wife,  my  children,  and  myself  in 
health  ;  my  friends  kind  ;  my  soul  at  rest ;  and 
my  labours  successful.     Who  should  not  be  con- 
tent and  thankful  if  I  should  not  ?     0,  my  bro- 
ther, help  me  to  praise."! 

(3.)  From  David,  learn  to  delight  in  God,  and 
so  to  view  each  scene  in  creation,  and  each  event 
in  providence,  in  God's  own  purest  light.  God 
was  his  chiefest  joy,  his  sure  and  ascertained 
friend ;  and  every  scene  was  pleasant  where 
God's  presence  was  enjoyed,  and  every  object 
interesting  in  which  aught  of  God's  glory  could 
be  seen.  He  felt  Jehovah's  tread  in  the  shaking 
wilderness  and  the  quivering  forest.  He  saw  Je* 
hovah's  chariot  in  the  rolling  cloud,  the  eddying 
tornado,  and  the  wheeling  water-spout.  He  be- 
held Jehovah's  majestic  flight  on  the  wings  of 

•  Life,  pp.  508,  509. 

t  Fuller'8  Life  of  Pea-ce,  p.  3d 


144 


LECTURE     VIII. 


mi^htv  winds  and  in  the  sweep  of  the  careering 
,  I    ids.     He  heard  Jehovah's  voice  in  the  thun- 
der-psalm   and   in  ocean's  echoing  chime.     He 
hea^l  it,  too.  in  the  huna  of  leafy  trees,  and  in  the 
ir'.nl  music  that  trickled  down  the  mountaiu  s 
iidc.      He  recognised   Jehovah's   frown   m  the 
■ulittin^'-  rocks  and  smoking  hills  ;    and  hailed 
Jehovah's  smile  in  the  melting  tmts  of  morning, 
in  the  lauirhing  joy  of  harvest-fields,  m  the  glanc 
int^  roll  of  sun-steeped  billows  and  the  plungmg 
CTT!      '    of  leviathan  as  he  played  his  ponderous 
frolirs  there  *     Every  touch  of  pathos  or  power 
pas-c '    away  a   heavenward   melody  from   the 
iEolian  harp  of  his  devotional  spirit ;  and,  not 
content  with  these  strains  of  constant  adoration, 
on  some  occasions  you  can  see  him  mustering  all 
hi<^  '  for  some  effort  of  ecstatic  worship,  and 

loD  to  flame   away  a   holocaust  of  praise. 

Descnuin?  the  change  which  came  over  his  own 
fppliniT^  from  the  time  that  he  knew  God  in  Christ, 
Pre-i'Vnt  Edwards  says,  *'  The  appearance  of 
everything  was  altered  ;  there  seemed  to  be,  as 

it  ^.^ rrcalm,  sweet  cast  or  appearance  of  Di- 

viv.  ry  in  almost  everything.     God's  excel- 

leB.s,  ais  \nsdom,  his  purity  and  love,  seemed 
to  appear  in  everything ;  in  the  sun,  and  moon, 
and  stars  ;  in  the  clouds  and  blue  sky  ;  in  the 
grass  flowers,  trees  ;  in  the  water  and  all  nature, 
which  used  greatly  to  fix  my  mind.  I  often  used 
to  sit  and  view  the  moon  for  continuance  ;  and  in 
^e  day  spent  much  time  in  viewing  the  clouds 
tnd  sky,  to  behold  the  sweet  glory  of  God  in 
these  things ;  in  the  mean  time  singing  forth, 

^  See  Psalma  xxix.,  Ixv.,  civ.,  cxlviii.,  &c 


LECTURE    VIII. 


.46 


with  a  low  voice,  my  contemplations  of  .*he  Crea- 
tor and  Redeemer.  .  .  .  My  mind  was  greatly 
fixed  on  Divine  things,  almost  perpetually  in  the 
contemplation  of  them.  I  oft  walked  alone  in  the 
woods  and  solitary  places,  for  meditation,  solilo- 
quy, and  prayer,  and  converse  with  God.  .  .  , 
Prayer  seemed  to  be  natural  to  me,  as  the  breath 
by  which  the  inward  burnings  of  my  heart  had 
vent.." 

4.  And  to  take  only  one  instance  more, — «  the 
man  greatly  beloved."  Daniel  was  a  busy 
statesman.  Darius  had  made  him  his  chief 
minister.  He  had  charge  of  the  r^yal  revenue, 
and  was  virtual  ruler  of  the  empire.  But  amidst 
all  the  cares  of  office  he  maintained  his  wonted 
custom  of  praying  thrice  a  day.*  For  these 
prayers  nothing  was  neglected.  The  adminis- 
tration of  justice  was  not  standing  still ;  the  pub- 
lic accounts  did  not  run  into  confusion.  There 
was  no  mutiny  in  the  army,  no  rebellion  in  the 
provinces  from  any  mismanagement  of  his.  And 
though  disappointed  rivals  were  ready  to  found 
an  impeachment  on  the  slightest  flaw,  so  wise 
and  prompt  and  impartial  was  his  procedure  that 
they  at  last  concluded,  "  We  shall  find  no  occa- 
sion against  this  Daniel,  except  we  find  it  against 
him  concerning  the  law  of  his  God."  He  found 
leisure  to  rule  the  realm  of  Babylon,  and  leisure 
to  pray  three  times  a  day.  Some  would  say  that 
he  must  have  been  a  first-rate  man  of  business  to 
find  so  much  time  for  prayer.  It  would  be  nearer 
the  truth  to  say  that  it  was  his  taking  so  much 
time  to  pray  which  made  him  so  diligent  and 

•  Dan.  vi.  10 


146 


LECTURE    VIU. 


piccessful  in  business.  It  was  from  God  that 
Daniel  got  his  knowledge,  his  wisdom,  and  his 
akilL  In  the  composure  and  serenity  which 
these  frequent  approaches  to  God  imparted  to  his 
spirit,  as  well  as  io  the  supernatural  sagacity  and 
forethought  and  power  of  arrangement  which 
God  gave  in  direct  answer  to  his  prayers,  he  had 
an  infinite  advantage  over  those  men  who,  re- 
fusing to  acknowledge  God  in  their  callings,  vex 
themselves  in  vain,  and  who,  when  the  fret  and 
worry  and  sweltering  of  their  jaded  day  is  done, 
find  that  they  have  accomplished  less,  and  that 
little  far  more  painfully  than  their  wiser  brethren 
who  took  time  to  pray.  The  man  must  be  busier 
than  Daniel  who  has  not  time  to  pray,  and  wiser 
ihan  Daniel  who  can  do  what  Daniel  did  without 
prayer  to  help  him.  Daniel  was  in  a  place  where 
prayer  was  eminently  needful.  He  was  in  Baby- 
Ion — a  place  of  luxury  and  revelry — and  from 
his  position  in  society  he  was  peculiarly  exposed 
to  the  idolatrous  and  voluptuous  temptations 
around  him.  It  was  difiicuh  and  ere  long  it  was 
dangerous  to  maintain  his  singularity.  But  so 
Car  as  there  was  any  seduction  in  the  mirth  of 
that  jovial  city,  prayer  kept  him  separate ;  and 
•o  far  as  there  was  any  danger  in  withholding 
countenance  from  its  idol-orgies,  prayer  made 
iiim  bold.  Though  the  clash  of  the  cymbal  and 
che  shouts  of  the  dancers  were  coming  in  at  the 
window,  they  did  not  disturb  his  devotion;  and 
though  he  had  not  forgotten  the  king^s  decree  and 
the  lions'  den,  he  did  not  close  the  lattice  nor  try 
to  conceal  his  faith  and  his  worship  ;  and,  secure 
alike  from  spiritua.  detrimem  and  personal  dan- 


LECTUBE     VIII. 


147 


ger,  the  Lord  hia  his  praying  servaut  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand. 

Among  the  elegant  forms  of  insect  life,  there 
is  a  little  creature  known  to  naturalists,  which 
can  gather  round  it  a  sufficiency  of  atmospheric 
air — and,  so  clothed  upon,  it  descends  into  the 
bottom  of  the  pool,  and  you  may  see  the  little 
diver  moving  about  dry  and  at  his  ease,  protected 
by  his  crystal  vesture,  though  the  water  all  around 
and  above  be  stagnant  and  bitter.     Prayer  is  such 
a  protector — a  transparent  vesture,  the  world  sees 
it  not — but  a  real  defence,  it  keeps  out  the  world. 
By  means  of  it  the  believer  can  gather  so  much 
of  heaven's  atmosphere  around  him,  and  with  it 
descend  into  the  putrid  depths  of  this  contami- 
nating world,  that  for  a  season  no  evil  will  touch 
him ;  and  he  knows  where  to  ascend  for  a  new 
supply.     Communion  with  God  kept  Daniel  pure 
in  Babylon.     Nothing  else  can  keep  us  safe  in 
London.     In  secret  of  God's  presence  you  might 
tread  these  giddy  streets,  and  your  eyes  never 
view  the  vanity.     You  might  pass  theatres  and 
taverns  and  never  dream  of  entering  in.  You  might 
get  invitations  to  noisy  routs  and  God-forgetting 
assemblies  and  have  no  heart   to  go.     Golden 
images,  public  opinion   with  its  lions'  den,  and 
fashion  with  its  fiery  furnace,  would  never  disturb 
you.     A  man  of  prayer  in  this  mart  of  nations, 
you  could  pass  upon  your  way  unseduced  and 
undistracted,  a  Christian  in  Vanity  Fair,  a  pil- 
grim iri  a  paradise  of  fools,  a  true  worshipper 
amidst  idolaters,  a  Daniel  in  Babylon. 

And  so  far  as  this  is  a  world  of  distress  and  dan- 
ger, prayer  is  the  best  defence.     So  Daniel  found 


148 


LECTURE    VIII. 


it  in  the  den.  So  his  three  friends  found  it  in  the 
fierv  furnace.  And  so  you,  my  friends,  will  find 
it  in  ihe  real  or  fancied  perils  of  this  mortal  life. 
"  The  name  of  the  Lord  is  a  strong  tower ;  the 
righteous  runneth  into  it  and  is  safe."  An  asy- 
lum ever  open,  the  ejaculation  of  an  instant  will 
land  you  in  it,  and  nothing  is  evil  which  befalls 
you  there.  By  the  omnipotent  help  which  it  at 
once  secures,  prayer  is  strength  in  weakness  and 
courage  in  dismay.  It  is  the  buoy  which  rides 
the  roaring  flood,  the  asbestos-robe  which  defies 
the  devouring  flame.  It  is  the  tent  in  which 
frailty  sleeps  securely,  and  anguish  forgets  to 
moan.  It  is  the  shield  on  which  the  world  and 
the  wicked  one  expend  their  darts  in  vain.  And 
when  panic  and  temptation  and  agony  all  are 
over, — whether  wafted  by  Sabbath  zephyrs,  or 
winged  by  scorching  flames — whether  guided  by 
hymning  angels,  or  dragged  by  raging  lions — 
whether  the  starting-point  be  Patmos,  or  Jerusa- 
lem, or  Smithfield,  or  Babylon,  it  is  the  chariot 
which  conveys  the  departing  spirit  into  a  Saviour's 
urm^ii. 


LECTURE  IX. 


CONCLUSION. 


■  Praying  always  with  all  prayer  and  supplication  in  tht 
Spirit." — Ephesians  vi.  lb. 

Then  what  is  prayer  ?    Is  it  penance  ?    Is  it 
a  part  of  that  various  punishment  which  God  has 
inflicted  on  our  sinful  family?     Is  it  so  much 
holy  drudgery  to  which  every  soul  must  force 
himself,  under  pain  of  incurring  a  severer  pen-  ' 
ally,  or  sinking  at  last  into  a  deeper  woe  ?     Is  it 
the  irksome  ordeal  through  which  you  are  doom- 
ed to  enter  each  successive  day,  and  the  moping 
and  mournful  finale  with  which  you  must  close 
it  up  and  leave  it  oflf?     Is  prayer  the  sackcloth 
which  you  must  wear  beneath  the  silk  attire  of 
daily  joys, — the  pebble  which  you  must  put  into 
the  sandals  of  daily  business, — the  preliminary 
thorn  which   you   must  break   across  or  pluck 
away  before  you  reach  the  downy  pillow  of  this 
weary  night's  new  slumber?     Is  prayer  the  cold 
fog  which  you  must  scatter  over   this  world's 
bright  landscape, — the  memento  mori  wiih  which 
you  must  sober  down  its  merry  raelodii  s, — the 
Egyptian  coffin  at  the  banquet's  close  to  lengthen 
every  visage,  and  with  quashed  delight  and  bit- 
ter fancies  to  send  each  rueful  guest  away  ? 


im 


LftCTURE     IX. 


And  yet,  I  am  sure  that  it  is  in  this  sombre 
aspect  that  many  look  on  prayer.  Are  you  sure 
that  this  is  not  the  aspect  in  which  you  yourself 
regard  it  ?  Is  it  not  a  task, — an  exercise, — an 
endurance  ?  Instead  of  en^ging  in  it  with  that 
alacrity,  or  resorting  to  it  with  that  avidity  which 
would  bespeak  the  privil*^ge,  do  you  not  betake 
yourself  to  secret  prayer  with  coldness  and  self- 
constraint,  and  feel,  when  the  devotions  of  the 
family  or  sanctuary  are  ended,  that  it  is  a  great 
comfort  to  have  this  other  "  duty  "  done? 

What  then  is  prayer  ? 

1.  It  is  communion  with  God.  Oh  I  breth- 
ren, prayer  is  not  an  apostrophe  to  woods  and 
wilds  and  waters.  Il  is  not  a  moan  let  fly  upon 
the  viewless  winds,  nor  a  bootless  behest  expended 
on  a  passing  cloud.  It  is  not  a  plaintive  cry,  di- 
reeled  to  an  empty  echo,  that  can  send  back 
nothing  but  another  cry.  Prayer  is  a  living 
heart  that  speaks  in  a  living  ear,-the  ear  of  thi 
living  God.*^  I.  matters  not  where  the  worship- 
per  is, — on  a  dreary  shore ;  in  a  noisome  dun- 
geon ;  amidst  the  filth  and  ferocity  of  brutal 
Lvages,  or  the  frivolity  and  atheism  of  hollow 
hearted  worldlings ;  surrounded  by  the  w^hirr  and 
clash  and  roaring  dissonance  of  the  heaving  fac- 
tory, or  toiling  in  the  depths  of  the  lamp-lit 
mine, — the  man  of  prayer  need  never  feel  the 
withering  pangs  ot  loneliness.  Wherever  you 
are  the  Lord  is  there,  and  it  only  needs  prayer  to 
bring  Himself  and  you  together.  Recollect  him, 
and  h«  is  beside  your  path ;  resort  lo  him,  and  he 
lays  his  hand  upon  you.  And  who  is  this  ever- 
present  Help, — this  never-distant  Friend?  Wordi 


LECTX7EE    IX 


151 


canno.  tell.     The   Incarnate  "  Word "  did  telL, 
but  few  could   comprehend,  and   as  few  could 
credit.*     If  you  imagine  the  tenderest  affection 
of  your  most  anxious  Friend ;  the  mildest  con- 
descension and  readiest  sympathy  of  your  most 
appreciating  and  considerate  Friend ;  and  if  you 
add  to  this  a  goodness  and  a  wisdom,  such  as  you 
never  saw  in  the  best  and  wisest  of  your  friends ; 
and  if  you  do  not  merge  but  multiply  all  this 
wisdom,  all  this  goodness,  and  all  this  kindness 
towards  you  by  infinity,  so  as  to  give  this  tender 
and  constant  Friend  infinite  knowledge  to  watch 
over  you,  infinite  forethought  to  provide  for  you, 
and  infinite  resources  to  relieve  or  enrich  you ;  if 
you  did  not  fully  realize  who  the  hearer  and  an- 
swerer of  prayer  is,  you  would,  at  least,  be  a  step 
beyond  that  unknown  God,  whom  many  igno- 
rantly  and  joylessly  worship.     In  prayer  you  do 
not  address  a  general  law  or  a  first  principle,  but 
you  address  a  living  person.     You  do  not  com- 
mune with  eternity,  or  with  infinite  space,  but 
you  commune   with   the  Father  of  eternity, — 
with  Him  "  who  fills  the  highest  heavens,  and 
who  also  dwells  in  the  lowliest  hearts."     You  do 
not   hold   converse  with  abstract  goodness,  but 
with   the   God  and  Father  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ;  with  God  in  Christ;  with  Him  whose 
express   image  Jesus  is;   with   Jesus  himself; 
with   your  Friend   within   the  veil ;  with  your 
Father  who  is  in  heaven. 

And  is  there  in  this  aught  that  should  prove 
repulsive  or  heart-chilling  ?  Is  Christ  so  altered 
from  what  he  was,  that  you  needs  must  depre« 

John  i.  5, 18, 


im 


LECTURE     IX 


cate  his  presence ;  or  are  you  so  earthlj,  so  sen- 
8ual,  so  sin-saturated,  that  though  he  were  talk- 
ing with  you  by  the  way  your  bosom  could  not 
burn  ?  The  Saviour  and  yourself ;  is  there  so 
little  friendship  between  vou?  is  he  so  little  a 
reality  that  days  pass  witnout  adverting  to  him  ? 
or  is  he  so  little  loved  that  you  rather  deprecate 
than  desire  his  coming?  Have  you  found  so 
little  that  is  engaging  in  him  that  you  wonder 
how  people  who  loved  one  another  dearly,  loved 
this  Saviour  more?  Or  is  the  whole  such  a 
phantom, — to  your  feelings  such  a  nonentity, — 
that  you  cannot  comprehend  how  any  one  should 
have  such  delight  in  God  as  to  cry  out  in  desire 
of  his  more  conscious  presence,  "  0  God,  thou 
art  ray  God  ;  early  will  I  seek  thee :  my  soul 
thirsteth  for  thee,  my  flesh  longeth  for  thee  in  a 
cVy  and  thirsty  land.  My  soul  shall  be  satisfied 
as  with  marrow  and  fatness,  when  I  remember 
thee  upon  my  bed,  and  meditate  on  thee  in  the 
night-watches." 

Yes,  brethren,  whatever  you  may  fancy— or 
rather,  whatever  you  may  forget — the  Lord  liveth. 
There  may  be  objects  which  fascinate  all  your 
soul,  and  bind  in  welcome  fetters  all  your  facul- 
ties ;  but  hidden  from  your  view  there  is  an  ob- 
ject, did  you  catch  one  glimpse  of  him,  fit  to 
deaden  the  deliciousness  of  every  lesser  jov»  and 
darken  the  glare  of  every  lesser  glory.  ^There 
may  be  friends  deep-seated  in  your  soul,  but 
there  is  yet  one  friend,  whom  could  you  but  dis- 
cover, he  would  make  you  another  man — he 
would  give  your  life  a  new  nobility,  your  char 
meter  a  new  sanctity.     He  would  give  yourself  a 


LECTURE     IX 


153 


new  existence  in  giving  himself  to  you,  and 
would  give  society  a  new  manner  of  person  in 
giving  you  to  it.  And  with  this  glorious  person- 
age, and  withal  most  gracious  friend,  it  is  possi- 
ble to  keep  up  an  intercourse  to  which  the  most 
rapid  communication  and  the  closest  converse  of 
earth  supply  not  the  equivalent.  The  twinkling 
thought — the  uplifted  eye — the  secret  groan — 
will  bring  him  in  an  instant — will  bring  him  in 
all  the  brightness  of  his  countenance  through  the 
midnight  gloom— in  all  the  promptitude  of  his 
interposition  through  the  thickest  dangers — in  all 
the  abundance  of  his  strength  into  the  fading 
flesh — and  in  all  the  sweetness  of  his  sympathy 
and  assurance  of  his  death-destroying  might  into 
the  failing  heart.  And  this  communion,  closer 
and  more  complete  than  that  of  any  creature  with 
another — for  dearest  friend  can  only  give  his 
thoughts,  and  desires,  and  feelings — he  cannot 
impart  himself;  but  in  regard  to  the  praying 
soul  and  tins  divine  communion,  we  read  of  its 
being  *'  filled  with  all  the  fulness  of  God." 

2.  Prayer  is  peace  and  joy.  Two  things  con- 
stitute the  believer's  peculiarity  and  make  him 
difl^er  from  the  rest  of  men — just  as  two  things 
constitute  the  sinner's  peculiarity,  and  make  him 
differ  from  the  rest  of  God's  creatures.  The  two 
things  which  form  the  Christless  sinner's  pecu- 
liar misery,  are  guilt  and  vacancy — a  gloom 
above  him  and  a  void  within  him.  A  gloom 
above  him — for  he  has  no  confidence  in  God— he 
has  no  hopeful  and  confiding  feeling  heavenwards 
— no  firm  reliance  on  a  reconciled  God,  and  no 
«miling  vista  through  a  pierced  and  heaven-open- 


IM 


LECTURE    :X. 


bg  sepulchre.     A   sense   of  sin — in   shadowy 
hauntings  or  in  severe  and  burning  incubus— is 
lowering   over  bis   conscience,  and  whether  ii 
merely  mar  his  occasional  joy,  or  convert  hii 
days  into  habitual  misery,  this  guilt,  this  con- 
science of  sin  is  a  serious  abatement  on  the  zesi 
of   existence— a   mournful   deduction   from    the 
total  of  #arthly  joy.     It  makes  the  unpardoned 
smner's   walk  very  different  from  the   seraph's 
limpid  flight,  who  only  knows  guilt  by  distant 
report,  and   very  different  from  the  newly-par- 
doned sinner's  lightened  gaiety,  who  only  knows 
it  by  remembrance— breaking  his  daily  bread  in 
the  sprightliness  of  a  vanished  fear,  and  eating  it 
with  the  relish  of  a  conscious  innocency.     But 
not  only  is  there  a  gloom  above  the  Christless 
sinner— a  brooding  guilt,  and  an  impending  dan- 
ger—but there  is  a  void  within  him.     God  did 
not  create  man  at  first  with  that  burden  on  his 
conscience,  and  neither  did  he  create  him  with 
this  aching  gap  in  his  bosom.     Or  rather,  we 
should  say  the  all-wise  Creator  has  implanted  no 
craving  in  any  of  his  creatures,  without  having 
provided  some  counterpart  object.     When   that 
object  is  attained,  the  creature  is  content.     The 
craving  subsides  in  quiet  enjoyment  and  compla- 
cency.    It  18  happy  and  wants  no  more.     Ths 
ox  IS  at  home  in  his  rich  pasture,  and  sends  no 
wistful  thought  beyond  it ;  and  so  is  the  insect 
which  "  expands  and  shuts  its  wings  in  silent 
ecstasy  "  on  the  edge  of  the  sunny  flower.     But 
11 M  far  otherwise  with  the  roaming  soul  of  tho 
Christless  sinner.     There  is  no  flower  of  earthly 
growth  in  whose  nectar  bathing  he  can  finally 


LECTURE     IX. 


155 


forget  his  poverty— no  green  pastures  of  time 
bounded  blessedness  in  whose  amplitudes  he  can 
so  lose   himself  that  misery  shall  find  him  no 
more.     Wide  as  is  his  range,  his  anxious  eye 
sees  too  well  its  weary  limits,  and  sweet  as  the 
honeyed  petals  are,  he  perceives  them  dyinff  as 
he  drinks.     Oh  !  this  fugacity  of  all  that  is  plea- 
sant— -this  scanty  measure  and  momentary  dura- 
tion  of  earthly  delights  was  never  meant  to  satiate 
the  soul  of  man— this  never  is  the  counterpart 
which    the   bountiful    Jehovah   created    for    the 
yearning   avidity  of  an    immortal  spirit.     Cast 
imo  the  mighty  gulf  of  man's  craving  soul,  a 
house-full  of  friendship,  a  ship's  freight  of  wealth 
and   dainty  delights,  a  world-load   of  wondrous 
objects    and    lovely  scenes,— the   deep-sounding 
abyss  will  ever  echo,  "  Give,  give  ;»  and  though 
you  could  tumble  the  world  itself -into  the  heart 
of  man,  you  could  not  prevent  it  from  collapsing 
m  disappointment,  and  dying  vacant  and  dreary 
at  last.  "^ 

There  is  only  one  object  so  mighty  as  truly  to 
content  this  capacious  desire— only  one  ultima- 
tuni  so  conclusive  that  when  the  soul  has  reached 
It,  It  has  nothing  more  to  do  than  rest  it  and  re- 
joice.    That  object  is  the  living  God  himself, 
that   ultimatum    is   the   All-sufHcient   Jehovah. 
1  he  Gospel  meets  the  two  desiderata  of  our  un- 
easy and  anxious  humanity  by  oflfering  a  free 
Pf/'^o"  and  an  infinite  and  eternal  possession. 
Ihe  affrighted  and  apprehensive  soul  finds  peace 
where  it   finds  forgiveness;    and  the  yearning, 
discontented  soul  finds  joy  fvhere  it  finds  a  neverw 
dying,  all-sufficient  friend.     It  finds  them  both 


156 


LECTURE    IX. 


where  it  finds  Immanuel.  The  gloom  vanishes 
and  the  void  is  filled— the  query  of  existence  is 
answered,  and  the  problem  of  blessedness  solved 
when  the  soul  ascertains  what  Jesus  really  is, 
and  in  a  Saviour-God  discovers  its  Beloved  and 
its  Friend. 

Now  the  peace  and  joy  of  conversion  it  is  one 
great  use  of  prayer  to  reproduce  and  perpetuate. 
It  brings  the  soul  into  the  presence  of  that  Sa- 
viour, whom  in  the  day  of  salvation  it  found,  and 
renewing"   the   intercourse,   it  renews   the  joy. 
When  prayer  is  what  it  ought  to  be — when  it  is 
earnest  and  realizing — it  gives  the  believer  fel- 
lowship with  the  Father,  and  with  his  Son  Jesus 
Christ.     It  brings  him  in  contact  with  those  per- 
fections of  the  Godhead  which  may  at  the  moment 
be  chiefly  revealed  to  his  view  :  and  in  the  pa- 
vilion of  prayer — beneath  the  canopy  of  the  sure 
atonement,  and  on   the  safe   standing-point  of 
acceptance— the  soul  surveys  the  God  of  majesty, 
or  surrenders  itself  to  the  God  of  grace — hearkens 
to  his  dreadful  voice  in  the  thundering  power  of 
startling  providences,  or  melts  in  sweet  amaze- 
ment beneath  the  f^ill  flood  of  his   marvellous 
mercies — ^but  from  every  aspect  of  awful  solem- 
nity   or    benignant    endearment,  the    assuring 
thought  comes\ome  "  And  this  God  is  our  owS 
God  for  ever."     And  perhaps  there  is  no  influ- 
ence so  abidingly  tranquillizing — so  permanently 
hallowing  and  heart-assuring,  as  this  high  com- 
munion with  the  great  All  in  All.     The  pleasures 
of  sin  will  look  paltry,  and  sin  itself  disgusting  to 
eyes  which  have  just  been  gazing  on  the  fountain 
of  light.      The  tossings  of  time — mountains  of 


LECTURE     IX. 


1^ 


prosperity  rooted  up,  and  pinnacles  of  fortune 
flung  into  the  roaring  sea — will  look  trivial  mat- 
ters to  one  who  has  eyed  them  in  their  mote- 
like distance  from  beneath  the  sapphire  throne. 
And  even  the  groans  of  mortality  and  the  wailinga 
of  the  sepulchre  will  come  diluted  and  trans- 
formed to  ears  resounding  with  golden  harmonies 
from  the  holy  place  of  the  Most  High. 

3.  Prayer  is  the  only  means  of  importing  to 
earth  blessings  not  native  to  it.  There  are  many 
commodities  not  of  English  growth,  which  ships 
and  wealth  and  enterprise  can  fetch  from  foreign 
shores.  But  there  are  some  things  which  no 
wealth  can  purchase,  which  no  enterprise  can 
compass,  and  with  which  no  ship  that  ever  rode 
the  seas  came  freighted.  Where  is  the  emporium 
to  which  you  can  resort  and  order  so  much  hap- 
piness ?  Where  is  the  ship  that  ever  brought 
home  a  cargo  of  heart-comfort? — a  consignment 
of  good  consciences  ? — a  freight  of  strength  for 
the  feeble,  and  joy  for  the  wretched,  and  peace 
for  the  dying  ?  But  what  no  vessel  ever  fetched 
from  the  Indies,  prayer  has  often  fetched  from 
heaven.  Our  earth  is  insulated.  It  is  clean  cut  otf 
from  all  intercourse  with  the  most  adjacent  worlds. 
But  even  though  the  nearest  world  were  peopled 
by  holy  and  happy  beings,  and  though  they  could 
cross  the  great  gulf  that  severs  them  from  us, 
they  could  accomplish  little  for  us.  They  could 
not  bind  up  bleeding  hearts — they  could  not  wash 
stains  from  guihy  souls — they  could  not  infuse 
their  own  felicity  into  gaunt  and  joyless  hearts, 
and  they  could  not  transport  their  own  sweet  at- 
mosphere 80  as  to  heal  the  miasma  of  a  polluted 


108 


L  E  C  T  U  K  li 


place,  or  the  misery  of  a  wretched  home.  Birt 
what  they  cannot  do,  the  Lord  himself  can  do. 
Prayer  is  not  a  message  to  the  moon.  It  is  not 
a  cry  for  help  to  the  sun,  or  to  the  stars  in  their 
courses.  It  is  a  petition  addressed  to  Him  who 
made  the  sun  and  moon  and  stars.  It  is  recourse 
to  the  ever-present  and  all-sufficient  God.  It  is 
fpilty  fleeing  to  omnipotence.  It  is  misery  at 
the  door  of  mercy.  It  is  worm  Jacob  at  the 
ladder*s  foot,  and  that  ladder's  top  in  heaven.  It 
is  the  dying  thief  beside  a  dying  Saviour,  and 
the  same  Paradise  already  open  for  them  both. 
The  mercv-seatis  the  ark  of  the  covenant  opened, 
and  the  legend  over  it,  "  Ask,  and  it  shall  be 
given  thee."  And  prayer  is  just  the  exploring 
eye  and  the  believing  hand  selecting  from  the 
"  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ"  the  sweetest 
mercies  and  the  costliest  gifts.  Jacob  compared 
Joseph  his  son  to  a  fruitful  tree  inside  of  a  lofty 
fence  ;*  but  though  he  grew  in  a  **  garden  en- 
closed," his  growth  was  so  luxuriant  that  his 
branches  ran  over  the  wall,  and  the  wandering 
Ishmaelites,  and  the  hungry  passengers  shot 
their  arrows  and  flung  their  missiles  at  the  laden 
boughs,  and  caught  up  such  clusters  as  fell  out- 
side the  fence.  *  The  tree  of  life  grows  now  in 
such  a  garden.  There  is  now  an  enclosure 
round  it,  but  the  branches  run  over  the  wall 
High  over  our  heads  we  may  perceive  the  bend- 
ing boughs,  and  such  fragrant  fruits  as  "  peace 
of  conscience,  joy  in  the  Holy  Ghost,  assurance 
of  God's  love,"  "gentleness,  goodness,  faith 
meekness,  temperance"^and  prayer  is  the  arii>w 
•Gen.  idix.  22,  23,  with  Ham er*9 explanation. 


LECTURB     IX. 


15% 


vLi%n  detaches  these  from  tho  bough — the  mis- 
ftik  tikich  brings  these  far-off  fruits,  these  lofty 
clusterb,  down  to  the  dusty  path,  and  the  wearj 
traveilei's  feet.  Happy  he  whose  believing 
prayer  is  •*  like  Jonathan's  bow,  which  never 
came  empiy  back."* 

4.  Prayer  confers  the  largest  power  of  doing 
good  to  others.  "  What  am  I  to  do  with  other 
people's  son  ows  ?"  The  finest  and  the  gentlest 
spirits  are  often  the  most  heavily  burdened. 
Many  a  one  feels  that  he  could  pass  right  easily 
through  the  world  if  he  had  no  griefs  to  carry 
but  his  own.  He  feels  that  his  sensitive  system 
IS  just  a  contrivance  lor  catching  up  other  men's 
calamities, — an  apparatus  on  which  pvery  bodv 
fastens  his  own  peculiar  vexation^his  family 
their's — his  neighbours  their's — till  at  last  he 
moves  about  the  burden-bearer  of  a  groaning 
world.  But  after  he  has  got  himself  thus  charged 
and  loaded,  he  knows  not  what  to  do,  for  he  can- 
not alleviate  the  twentieth  portion  of  the  ills  he 
knows.  He  cannot  heal  all  the  wounds  and  mi- 
tigate all  the  poverty  of  which  he  is  the  mourning 
witness.  He  cannot  minister  to  all  the  minds 
diseased,  all  the  aching  hearts  and  wounded 
spirits  whose  confidant  he  is ;  and  in  the  anguish 
of  his  own  tortured  sympathies  he  is  sometimes 
tempted  to  turn  these  sympathies  ouiside  in,  and 
feel  for  his  fellow-men  no  more.  •'  What  then 
shall  I  do  with  other  people's  son  ows?"  The 
Christian  feels  that  he  has  no  right  to  be  his  own 
little  all-in-all.  He  feels  that  he  aaies  not  invert 
the  example  of  his  Master,  who  was  a  man  of 

*  Gum  all 


MO 


LECXUnS     [JC* 


•orrows  very  much  because  a  man  of  sympathies. 
He  remembers  of  whom  it  is  said,  "  Surely  he 
hath  borne  our  griefs  and  carried  our  sorrows ;" 
and  this  reminds  him  what  to  do  with  the  per- 
plexities and  disappointments  and  distresses  of 
his  brethren.     He  takes  them  to  the  Throne  of 
Grace.     He  deposits  them  in  the  ear  of  the  Great 
High  Priest.     He  urges  them  on  the  notice  of  one 
who  can  be  touched  with  a  feeling  of  infirmity, 
and  who  is  able  to  succour  them  that  are  tempted. 
And  in  this  way  a  believer  who  is  tender-hearted 
enough  to  feel  for  his  brethren,  and  who  is  so 
much  a  man  of  prayer  as  to  carry  to  the  mercy- 
seat  those  matters  that  are  too  hard  and  those 
griefs  that  are  too  heavy  for  himself,  may  be  a 
greater  benefactor  to  his  afflicted  friends  than  an 
Achitophel  who  has  nothing  but  sage  counsel,  or 
t  Joab  who  has  nothing  but  a  stout  arm  to  help 
Ihem — than  a  man  of  fortune  who  can  give  noth- 
ing but  his  money,  or  a  man  of  feeling  who  has 
nothing  but  his  tears.     The  Christian  has   his 
near  relations  and  personal  friends.     Parents  and 
children,  brothers  and  sisters,  husbands  and  wives, 
— God  has  bound  them  very  closely  together,  and 
made  it  impossible  for  the  joy  of  one  to  be  full  if 
another's  joy  is  incomplete.     Besides  these  there 
are  friends  not  of  one's  house — kindred  spirits 
whom  God,  in  creating,  or  the  Spirit  of  God,  in 
new-creating,  has  made  congenial  with  your  own 
— those  to  whom  you  are  drawn  by  the  afFnity 
of  identical  tastes,  or  by  the  discovery  of  those 
mental  gifts  and  spiritual  graces,  which  cannot 
be  hid,  and  which  cannot  be  seen  without  attract- 
ing you.     Now  one  way  to  sanctify  s\ich  friend- 


LECTURE    11. 


161 


I 


ships  is  to  make  them  the  material?  d-n^.  the 
incentives  of  prayer.  For  example,  tuere  may 
be  seasons  of  spiritual  languor  when  you  have 
little  heart  to  pray.  The  Throne  of  Grace  seems 
distant  or  uninviting.  A  deep  sloth  has  seized 
the  inner  man.  You  are  not  inclined  to  ask  any 
blessing  for  yourself.  You  are  too  carnal  to  con- 
fess any  sin,  and  too  sullen  to  acknowledge  any 
mercy — perhaps  so  earthly  or  atheistical  that  you 
do  not  pant — nay,  do  not  breathe  after  God,  the 
living  God.  At  such  a  season  of  deadness  you 
will  sometimes  find  that  you  can  pray  for  others 
when  you  cannot  for  yourself.*  Do  even  so. 
Make  your  solicitude  for  them  a  motive  for  prayer. 
Begin  by  laying  their  wants  before  the  Lord,  and 
you  will  soon  find  out  your  own.  Come  in  their 
company,  and  you  may  soon  find  yourself  left 
alone  with  God.  This  is  not  to  desecrate  prayer, 
but  to  consecrate  friendship.  It  exalts  and  puri- 
fies affection,  and  by  making  it  friendship  in  the 
Lord,  makes  it  more  lasting  now,  and  more  likely 
to  be  renewed  hereafter. 

And   lastly,    Intercession    sanctifies   the    be- 
liever's relation  to  the  Church.     "  Our  Father  " 
makes  all  of  us  who  are  in  Christ  one  family. 
But  this,  too,  is  oft  forgotten.     There  is  little 
family  love    amongst   us   yet — little   instinctivo 
affection   resulting  from   our   common  adoption 
into  the  circle  of  God's  dear  children — little  of 
that  affection   towards   one  another  which  oui 
elder  brother  feels  towards  .very  one — little  out- 
going of  sympathy  because  one  Comforter  filk 
us  all.     If  the  family  relation  of  the  household  9 1 

*  Sheppard's  Thoughts  on  Prnate  Devotion. 


163 


LE  CTURB    IX. 


faith  be  ever  realizedi  it  is  in  social  or  interces* 
■ory  prayer.     Abba,  Father — my  Father  truly, 
because  Father  of  my  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  but,  if 
»o.  Father  of  many  more — Father  of  the  whole 
believing  family — "  Our  Father,  which  art  in 
heaven."     And  so  the  circle  widens,  till,  starting 
from  the  individual,  or  his  own  little  band  of  im- 
mediate brotherhood,  it  includes  all  whom  the 
arms  of  Immanuel  enclose.     One  who  was  much 
given   to   intercessory  prayer  writes   thus  to  a 
Christian  friend : — "  I  beseech  you  to  seek  ear- 
nestly the  communion  of  saints.     This  is  the  only 
progress  I  have  made  in  the  divine  life.     I  have 
received,  as  a  most  precious  and  unmerited  gift, 
the  power  of  feelmg  the  things  of  the  flock  of 
Christ  as  if  they  were  my  own.     You  cannot 
imagine  the  happiness  of  this  feeling.     I  dedi- 
cate an  hour  every  evening  to  prayer,  and  prin- 
cipally to  intercession.     I  generally  begin  with 
the  thanks  due  to  God  for  having  made  himself 
known  to  us  as  our  Father,  for  all  that  he  has 
done  for  every  one  of  his  sheep  on  that  day.     It 
is  impossible  for  me  to  tell  you  the  great  delight 
of  thus  mixing   myself  up   with   the  people  of 
Lhnst,  and  of  considering  their  benefits  as  my 
own.     The   thought   which    transoorts   me  the 
Host,  is  that  of  how  many  souls  have  been,  per- 
*inps,  this  day  joined  to  the  Church  !  how  many 
succoured  under  temptation!  how  many  recov- 
ered from  their  backslidings  !  how  many  filled 
with  consolation  !  how  many  transported  by  death 
into  the  bosom  of  Christ !     I  then  try  to  pray  for 
that  sweet  •  we,'  and  to  think  of  the  necessities 
of  my  Christian  friends.     Besides,  I  have  a  list 


I 


LECTURE    IX. 


163 


of  unconverted  persons,  for  whom  I  wish  to 
pray."*  And,  if  there  were  more  of  this  spirit, 
how  it  would  alter  the  tone  of  Christians  to  one 
another  I  Instead  of  being  so  censorious  and  un- 
charitable, it  would  make  us  feel,  "  Am  I  not  my 
brother's  keeper  ?"  Instead  of  a  fault-finding,  it 
would  make  us  a  fault-forgiving  and  a  fault- 
healing  Church.  It  would  make  us  suflfer  witli 
the  suffering  members,  and  exult  with  the  re- 
joicing. It  would  make  us  like  that  high-souled 
apostle  who  had  "  continual  heaviness  "  for  his 
unconverted  kindred,  and  who  yet  never  wanted 
topics  of  consolation ;  remembering  without  ceas- 
ing in  his  prayers  his  believing  brethren,  with 
their  work  of  faith,  and  labour  of  love,  and 
patience  of  hope. 

•  **  Memoir  of  Miss  M.  J  Grahim,"  lecond  editioB, 
pp.  375,  376 


•  t  • 


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